































♦ 




X 


■ 












































it 

Tell Me a Story I Never 
Heard Before” 










BROWN 


/ 



THE 

FAIRY BOOK 


THE FAIRY BOOK SERIES 

EDITED BY ANDREW LANG 

Crown 8 vo, gilt edges. 


THE BLUE FAIRY BOOK. With 138 Illustrations. $2.00. 
THE RED FAIRY BOOK. With 100 Illustrations. $2.00. 
THE GREEN FAIRY BOOK. With 99 Illustrations. $2.00. 
THE GREY FAIRY BOOK. With 65 Illustrations. $2.00. 
THE YELLOW FAIRY BOOK. With 104 Illustrations. $2.00. 
THE PINK FAIRY BOOK. With 67 Illustrations. $2.00. 
THE VIOLET FAIRY BOOK. W T ith 8 Coloured Plates and 
54 other Illustrations. Net, $1.60. By mail, $1.75. 
THE CRIMSON FAIRY BOOK. With 8 Coloured Plates and 
45 other Illustrations. Net, $1.60. By mail, $1.75. 

THE ORANGE FAIRY BOOK. With 8 Coloured Plates 
and 50 other Illustrations. Net, $1.60. By mail, $1.75. 

THE BROWN FAIRY BOOK. With 8 Coloured Plates 
and 42 other Illustrations. Net, $1.60. By mail, $1.75. 

THE OLIVE FAIRY BOOK. With 8 Coloured Plates and 

43 other Illustrations. Net, $1.60. By mail, $1.75. 

THE BOOK OF PRINCES AND PRINCESSES. With 8 
Coloured Plates and 45 other Illustrations. Net, $1.60. 
By mail, $1.75. 

THE BLUE POETRY BOOK. With 100 Illustrations. $2.00. 
THE TRUE STORY BOOK. With 66 Illustrations. $2.00. 

THE RED TRUE STORY BOOK. With 100 Illustrations. 

$ 2 . 00 . 

THE ANIMAL STORY BOOK. With 67 Illustrations. $2.00. 

THE RED BOOK OF ANIMAL STORIES. With 65 
Illustrations. $2.00. 

THE ARABIAN NIGHTS ENTERTAINMENTS. With 
66 Illustrations. $2.00. 

THE BOOK OF ROMANCE. With 8 Coloured Plates and 

44 other Illustrations. Net, $1.60. By mail, $1.75. 

THE RED ROMANCE BOOK. With 8 Coloured Plates 
and many other Illustrations by H. J. Ford. Net, $1.60. 
By mail, $1.75. 

Longmans, Green, and Co., New York. 







By 

MART STEWART 

Tell Me a Hero Story 

Illustrated, i2mo, cloth 

" Happy will the children be who find this new treasury of 
hero stories among their Christmas gifts. Miss Stewart has 
retold in clear, simple form (while still preserving their stir- 
ring spirit) some old stories found enshrined in mummy-cases 
and the peasant songs of the world. The book is delightfully 
illustrated by S. M. Pajmer, whose unique drawings reflect 
the heroic spirit and lofty appeal which run, like a golden 
thread, throughout these fascinating tales." 

— Christian Intelligencer. 

The Shepherd of Us All 

Stories of the Christ Retold for Children. Illus- 
trated 

" Miss Stewart is a genius at writing a Bible story. Her 
'Tell Me a True Story' tales, istories of .Old Testament 
heroes, has gone into a number of editions and has won com- 
mendations from teachers, pastors and parents everywhere. 
Her new book, which comprises stories of the life of Christ, 
is an even stronger piece of work ’’—Book News. 

Once Upon a Time Tales 

With “ The Way to Once Upon a Time ” 
by Henry Van Dyke. Illustrated and Deco- 
rated by Griselda Marshall McClure. i 2 mo, 
cloth 

" The book goes into the enticing realms of fairy lore. A 
shepherd with a magic flute leads the way. Then come ad- 
ventures in plenty. All the favorites, even unto the giants, 
are found, and there is not a word to keep the most nervous 
youngster from sleeping as do the just." 

— Baltimore Evening Sun. 

Tell Me a True Story 

Tales of Bible Heroes for Children of To-day. 
Introduction by A. F. Schauffler, D. D. Illus- 
trated. Cloth 

Patterson Du Bois says : " At the top of all the Bible Story 
books for children.” Dr. William R. Richards says : 
“ These Stories have lived through a thorough testing.” 
Henry Sloane Coffin says : " A fascinating book, much 
needed, a treasure." 




“Blow, Brother, blow! In your dream 
bubbles I see boy-knights and butterfly girls, 
and fairies who lived long ago* They are 
telling us tales of wonder which we never heard 
before!” 


“Tell Me a Story I Never 
Heard Before” 


From the Story-Tellers of Long Ago 
For the Story-Tellers of To-Day 


By 


MARY STEWART 

Author of “ Tell Me a True Story,” “ Tell Me 
a Hero Story,” etc. 

ILLUSTRATED BY 
RACHEL LYMAN FIELD 



Chicago 


New York 


Fleming H. Revell Company 

London and Edinburgh 


Copyright, 1919, by 

FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY 




New York: 158 Fifth Avenue 
Chicago : 17 North Wabash Ave. 
London: 21 Paternoster Square 
Edinburgh : 75 Princes Street 

flfci. -5 1919 


©CI.A536845 







* 




Contents 



Foreword to the Story-Teller . 

9 

I. 

The Spirit of Winter 

Arbutus — North American Indian 

25 

II. 

The Call of the Cuckoo . 
Bloodroot — Irish 

33 

III. 

Candlemas Eve . 

Dandelions — Scotch 

45 

IV. 

Butterfly Blossom 

Butterflies — Chinese 

57 

V. 

Granny’s Garden 

Tulips — Irish 

6 7 

VI. 

The Flute Which Blew from 



Fairyland .... 
Appleblossoms — Scotch 

75 

VII. 

A Prince’s Dream 

Lilies — French 

87 

VIII. 

In a Rose Garden 

Roses — English 

95 

IX. 

Queen Marguerita 

Daisies — S tor notv ay 

103 

X. 

The Cry of the Eagle . 

Columbine — Scotch 

1X3 

XI. 

The Enchanted Garden 

A Nosegay — Many Lands 

125 

XII. 

Fair Earth .... 

X35 


Vegetables — North American Indian 


Contents 


XIII. The Chattering Aspen . . 143 

Aspen Tree — North American Indian 

XIV. The Merchant of Dreams . .151 

A Squirrel and his Friends — Storn- 
oway 

XV. Fairy Fancy . . . .165 

Grandfather's Garden — Stornoway 

XVI. How Five Little Angels Lost 


Their Wings .... 179 

Angels — French 

XVII. The Willow Maiden . . .191 

Willow Tree — Chinese 

XVIII. An Ogre and His Dragon . . 207 

Devil's Paint Brush — Stornoway 

XIX. The Gay Little King . .223 

Maple Tree — Stornoway 

XX. Dreams of Gold . . . .235 

A Homing Dove — Scotch 

XXI. The White Elephant . . 245 

White Elephant — Stornoway 

XXII. North Wind’s Baby . . 261 

A Seal — Stornoway 

XXIII. The Bad Little Goblin’s New 

Year 271 

A Flame Goblin — Stornoway 


The stories marked “ Stornoway " have not been 
suggested, as have the others, by myths or legends. 





Foreword to the Story-Teller 


F AR in the north of Scotland, in an 
island full of dreams and tales of 
mystery, there is a clear mountain 
pool — a tarn. “ Drink from it,” runs the 
legend, “ as the rising sun turns the brown 
water to gold, and you will feel the joy of 
youth and wonder stealing through you.” 

Unless you have tasted of this tarn you 
cannot be a real story-teller, and every born 
story-teller will understand what I mean, — 
yes, though she may never have been in 
Scotland. 

We may read excellent books on story- 
telling, we may take courses in Elocution, 
Interpretation, Dramatics, we may know the 
best stories in the world and be able to 
memorize a tale, word for word, in an hour, 
and yet — without the spirit of youth and 
wonder in our very souls we cannot, abso- 
9 


io Foreword to the Story-Teller 

lutely cannot by any art, bring the atmos- 
phere of imagination into our story. 

“ What you are speaks so loud that I 
cannot hear what you say.” 

If you are the kind of a person who wishes, 
first of all, to instruct, if you never believed 
in fairies and cannot feel a Something, a 
Somebody, in the wind, the sunset, the whis- 
pering trees, — then choose a life you are 
fitted for, and never ruin a fanciful story by 
trying to tell it. 

But if — and there are many of us in this 
if — your heart is full of vague, wistful 
beauties and longings, if the unseen is as 
near you as the seen, if an intangible mean- 
ing speaks to you in beautiful music, in all 
out-of-doors, in every child’s smile, but if 
you cannot easily express what you feel — 
then you are a born story-teller, and all you 
need is some study and much practice. 

This will lift from us the weight of re- 
pression which has been the basis of our 
education and tear away the horrible self- 
consciousness which hangs like a dark, damp 
cloud between us and others. Then, as 


II 


Foreword to the Story-Teller 

suddenly as the sun shines through the 
shower, exquisite meanings will take form 
and colour like the rainbow and, like it, 
will bring hope and joy into dingy, common- 
place surroundings. 

The words we use are not very important. 
They are only, a great artist has said, “A 
little path through the wood.” The wood 
is the important part. We must know it so 
well that we can see the leaves fluttering 
upon the trees, delight in every bit of moss 
and hidden flower. Take, for example, one 
of the old fairy tales. They are the easiest 
to tell because they have much action and 
few adjectives. (For that reason I have col- 
lected in this volume old tales which have 
been new and fascinating to many children.) 
Read the story over and over again and then 
imagine that you are to tell it at once to a 
crowd of children. You will probably sud- 
denly realize that you do not know it at all, 
do not know how to start, what to cut out, 
what to choose for the climax, how to sim- 
plify the end. From that moment you see 
it in a new light, you have begun to learn it. 


12 Foreword to the Story-Teller 

Now at last you feel it also, your heart 
bleeds over the sad stepchild, you feel the 
delight of the coming prince as keenly as 
though he came to you, her joy at the end 
is your own. It makes no difference what 
the story you choose is, — and be sure you 
do choose it — you must make it your own, a 
part of your life. 

Thus in telling funny stories laugh with 
your heart — is that the member which 
laughs? — and your eyes and your lips and, 
yes, your hands ! Laugh until the children 
fairly turn inside out with merriment. 

In telling legends feel the mystery and 
wonder with every bit of you, until the 
atmosphere fairly fills the room. 

In stories of heroism, let them inspire you 
until you are ready to ride out yourself as 
a prince to rescue the fair maiden in rags, to 
don your armour as a knight and hold the 
castle alone against a thousand demons ! 

When telling Bible stories let us have the 
simple faith of children in our hearts, or else 
let us not dare touch them. 

All this we can do if we have the power of 


Foreword to the Story-Teller 13 

feeling vividly, the will to forget ourselves 
and a great love for the listening children. 

But how can we forget? 

First of all, — relax! Don’t strain every 
nerve to tell a good story, to hold your audi- 
ence, to be a success. Most of us are too 
tense all the time, too stiff, too conscientious 
and anxious to be our best selves. Listen, 
(as it has been my great privilege to do,) 
to a charming French artist talk about — any- 
thing, from her dinner the night before to 
the meaning of true art. See how the sub- 
ject envelops her, how her hands and 
shoulders and eyes as well as her voice are 
trained subjects, expressing every light and 
shade of her thought. 

I am afraid that no amount of lessons of 
any kind will teach us to do that, it is not 
our “ temperament.” But for the sake of 
the children and of the immortal characters 
we are trying to make live again in our 
tales, do let us try to have some of this 
undervalued “ temperament,” some atmos- 
phere which brings warmth and colour and 
joy wherever we go, which expresses to 


14 Foreword to the Story-Teller 

others the mystery and faith and love of 
our souls! 

We are colourless, many of us, simply 
because we close our hearts and only open 
them to the people we love or the work 
we feel is ours or the play that we need 
for our health’s sake. Let us play as chil- 
dren do for the pure joy of it, work as 
they do for the same reason and open our 
hearts with sympathy to every human soul 
we meet, every ray of beauty, — hidden 
though it often is beneath sorrow and ugli- 
ness. Then when we have become great 
dreamers, living always with a vision of 
beauty before us, we shall become at the 
same time great story-tellers! 

Does it seem as though I had wandered 
far afield from my practical rules for simple 
story-telling? I have not, because that 
which you are naturally every day you will 
also be when you are telling stories, if you 
tell them in the simplest and most inspiring 
manner. 

Of course there are other methods. I 
have studied three of them, and in each case 


15 


Foreword to the Story-Teller 

my teacher was a superb artist, so able to 
accomplish wonders with her own system 
that I dreamed of working along her lines 
and imitating her. Alas! — those dreams 
were of short duration. 

My first teacher is now well known both 
in England and America as a famous story- 
teller. Her method is to learn every word 
by heart, so as to keep the atmosphere of the 
author. She believes in much action, chang- 
ing the voice for each character, studying 
the gestures they would use, in fact acting 
out the story, and learning all this so well 
before you tell it that the acting is sub- 
conscious. 

But many of us tell two new stories a 
week, sometimes one a day. Unless we 
spend all our time learning them and be- 
come trained as skilled actresses we dare not 
attempt this method. Also — I say this 
shyly, for I know that this wonderful story- 
teller is also a fine teacher, and that many 
of our best Public Library story-tellers fol- 
low her method — I have found that the 
spontaneous words which spring to our lips. 


16 Foreword to the Story-Teller 

the gestures, different every time perhaps, 
which come unprepared as we stand before 
an audience, are more successful for the 
story-teller who has much vitality but who 
is not a born actress. 

After my exceedingly helpful and inter- 
esting lessons with this Queen of Story- 
tellers in London, I tried to carry out, alone 
and very crudely, her instructions to the 
letter, making of course many blunders 
which she would have condemned. I 
learned pages of Hans Anderson by heart 
and after impersonating Swineherds and 
Wild Swans and Peas-in-a-Pod I came to a 
beautiful story where God spoke. Oh the 
agony of representing God in voice and 
gesture! Before giving it at my children’s 
Story Hour I told it very dramatically, I 
thought, to my family. My solemn story 
brought forth such peals of laughter that I 
gave up the ultra-realistic method forever! 

One can easily swing to the other extreme 
and not study the story enough. As a 
matter of fact, after we have read and 
thought of the story until it is our own, we 


17 


Foreword to the Story-Teller 

do use, unconsciously , many of the best words 
it is written in. The dialogues we generally 
know much as they are printed. But when 
it comes to voice intonation and gesture, 
either study one story for days and weeks or 
else merely feel it deeply and let it flow 
naturally through your own vehicles of ex- 
pression. 

Here again the extreme is horrible. If 
we let ourselves go completely and lose our- 
selves in the emotions we are trying to por- 
tray, we will sob and shiver and laugh 
hysterically and — embarrass the children be- 
yond words ! 

This method — of losing oneself in one’s 
character — is recommended to actresses by 
the greatest living Interpreter, an artist be- 
yond compare. 

“ To express we must feel ,” she says. “ It 
is only that which we truly feel that we can 
express. Feel, — and then — we must give all, 
everything. In Art, there must not even be 
a shred of chiffon upon your soul ! ” 

That is true for us also, with a difference. 
We must indeed give all that we are, but 


1 8 Foreword to the Story-Teller 

as story-teller, not as our characters, whom 
we had better suggest than actually imper- 
sonate. 

Another teacher, one who has trained 
successfully many singers for acting in 
opera, said, “A hidden away part of you is 
Mary Ann. You may be a queen or a 
beggar or a fairy, to your audience you are 
none other, but never forget Mary Ann, 
keep her always on the spot ! ” 

Some of us had the great privilege of 
listening to Maltbie Babcock preach. It 
seems dull to say “ preach,” for he was 
story-teller, actor, poet, leader and prophet 
all in one. We realized as we sat among 
the great throngs listening to him that 
never for more than a moment did any one’s 
attention wander from those matchless 
words. Afterward, when the requests for 
his printed sermons came pouring in, we 
were told why he had never written them 
down as he preached them. If, from the 
pulpit, he saw one man’s eyes wander, one 
face lose the light of interest, he changed 
his words, put a sudden question, made an 


Foreword to the Story-Teller 19 

interest-compelling remark, and again the 
whole great audience was his. 

We must be as flexible as that. We may 
be radiant with the beauty of our tale, en- 
veloped with its mystery, actually listening 
to the fairies* song, but, all unnoticed, Mary 
Ann must see that boy yawn, must hear 
those drumming, listless fingers, must 
prompt us to direct a shaft toward this cor- 
ner which will make that sleepy child wake 
up with live interest. 

Then our voices, — how desperately im- 
portant, if they are to carry the message our 
heart dictates. Let us get into the habit of 
listening to them ourselves. Are they dis- 
tinct, well modulated, pleasant to listen to, 
able to change easily from a giant’s gruff 
growl to the whisper of a fairy fay? Listen- 
ing to trained voices is a great help, perhaps 
the greatest, unless we also can spend hours 
each day in training our own. 

Remember the tremendous effects which 
can be made by pausing before words of 
great importance, filling the pause with 
facial expression and showing that you feel 


20 


Foreword to the Story-Teller 

what you are going to say; or by simply 
pausing before an exciting climax and letting 
wonder steal over your face, as though you 
did not know any more than the children 
what was going to happen, — until suddenly 
you see the prince come to the rescue, the 
giant’s head fall! 

Always see everything — that is the only 
trick that I know of which is a tremendous 
help. See, in the corner of the room, the 
far-away objects, see around you the little 
fairies, the dancing flowers, the intimate 
things. Often I have watched children turn 
and look behind them with a delighted 
shiver, as though they really expected to 
see the image there which you have de- 
scribed. 

It has been my great privilege and delight 
lately to tell stories to a school of deaf chil- 
dren, They read my lips, partially, and also 
gather much of the meaning through my 
gestures and expression. The children are 
so responsive, so eager to understand, so 
ready to have their starved imaginations 
take fire, that one simply cannot be self- 


21 


Foreword to the Story-Teller 

conscious, cannot stop to wonder whether 
this pantomime is awkward, this gesture 
silly. You are swallowed up with the long- 
ing not to disappoint those wistful faces, to 
give them the glowing pictures you see, to 
make them feel the thrill in the words they 
cannot hear. 

In doing this you realize, more fully even 
than when telling stories to normal children, 
the wonderful power of understanding 
which exists between the soul of the story- 
teller and her hearers. It is like a mysteri- 
ous sixth sense, a clear reading of the mind 
and heart at the same time. Without, or in 
spite of, words and gestures (for the blind 
have this gift also to a marked degree), the 
children understand what you are possessed 
with the desire to give, understand, too, the 
great love and longing you have behind the 
story. It is as marvellous, as miraculous, as 
the hidden meaning in the wind, the storm, 
in days and nights of perfect beauty. 

The fair lady had tasted of the tarn of 
youth, and with her blood dancing through 
her veins she turned and saw — a tiny figure 


22 Foreword to the Story-Teller 

in green with a golden harp upon his back, 
the Green Harper himself! 

“Ah, I can see you now ! ” she cried. “ So 
you must give me my wish, my heart’s de- 
sire.” 

“Yes,” he answered moodily, “although 
I don’t understand why you saw me. So 
few grown people ever do, that I did not 
take the trouble to hide. What do you wish 
for? Gold and jewels, I suppose.” 

The lady laughed. “No indeed!” she 
replied. “ The hills are brilliant with spring 
flowers and daffodils dance by the brook 
yonder. Your gold and jewels are dull com- 
pared to them.” 

“ Then I suppose you wish to be a queen 
with trains of subjects bowing before you? 
Speak quickly for I must hide; I hear the 
children coming.” 

The lady heard them too. Voices glad 
and sad, lonely and in pain as well as merry 
and clamouring. She caught her breath. 

“ With your harp you weave magic 
spells!” she cried. “You bring forgetful- 
ness or memory, banish dull care and give 


Foreword to the Story-Teller 23 

the bliss of fairyland. You can make a sad 
heart laugh, a lonely child dance. — Give me 
your harp ! ” 

And because the Green Harper was bound 
by an oath to give whatever they asked to 
mortals who could see him, he had to give 
the lady his harp ! 

With it she turned her village into fairy- 
land ! . . . May we all taste of the tarn 

of youth and joy, may we see the fairies and 
have our heart's desire, and — because of all 
the needy children in the world — may many 
of us desire the golden harp, our instrument 
through which we can unfold to our eager 
listeners who wait so patiently, the hidden 
beauty and meaning of God's world. 

M. S. 

New York, 


"Ugh! Ugh!” cried the Indian Chief 
fiercely* But he could say no more. He 
had turned into a tree, while the tent 
enfolded his feet like moss* 


I 


The Spirit of Winter 

P ICTURE to yourselves a circle of In- 
dians seated around a camp-fire in 
early spring. Young braves with 
feathers stuck in their long, black hair are 
smoking pipes, old squaws are stringing 
beads and young ones ^re playing with 
brown babies. 

Suddenly a burst of children's laughter 
rings through the woods and a crowd of 
boys and girls come chasing toward the fire, 
their hands full of our May Flower or Trail- 
ing Arbutus. 

“ See what we have found underneath the 
leaves and the snow ! ” they cry. 

“It is the first message of spring!” ex- 
claim the older Indians, looking up eagerly 
and stretching out their hands for the fra- 
grant blossoms. One old chief holds a bit 
tenderly in his gnarled hand while he asks: 

25 


26 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

“ Do you remember how it first came 
to us? ” 

“ Tell us the story ! ” beg the children, 
and, “ Yes, yes, tell us the tale,” clamour 
the others, for the old chief is a famous story- 
teller. So with the sun setting behind them 
and the fire blazing in their midst the In- 
dians, young and old, sit silent, listening to 
this tale. 

“ Within a tent of skins a great Chief, 
perhaps the greatest, crouched beside a flick- 
ering fire. His gray locks fell to his knees, 
his fur robe was drawn closely around him 
and he held his shaking hands to the dying 
flame. 

“ ‘ I cannot understand/ he murmured. 
* I, Winter, who was once the strongest 
chief, am becoming weak. My step wavers, 
my hands tremble, my voice has lost its 
ringing force/ 

“ He left the fire, and walking haltingly to 
the tent entrance he lifted the flap and gazed 
out into the starry night. Patches of snow 
glimmered through the darkness, but be- 
tween them the ground lay bare and brown. 


The Spirit of Winter 


27 


" * 1 bade the snow-drifts hide the cold 
earth/ he cried angrily. ‘ Why have they 
broken my command? ' 

“ Then through the darkness the sound 
of a rushing stream reached his ears. His 
eyes blazed with fury. 

“ * Months ago I bid that stream be silent, 
and icy bands held it captive/ he muttered. 
‘It has broken its bonds, and why?* 

“ Suddenly through the cold night air a 
warm wind breathed. Softly it touched the 
cheek of the old Chief and his fury turned 
to terror. 

“ ‘ Is there a power stronger than mine 
which can shatter my laws? * he questioned 
fearfully. 

“ Then lifting his worn and wrinkled face 
to the stars he spoke to the Great Spirit 
from whom nothing is hid, 

“ ‘ Show me, I pray Thee, the meaning of 
this. If one walks the earth who is stronger 
than I, bid him approach my tent that we 
may match our strength/ 

“ He listened, and out of the night a voice 
as a rushing wind spoke. 


28 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

“ ‘At dawn thine enemy will come/ 

“ Winter let the tent flap fall and walked 
back sorrowfully to his dying fire. There 
crouching silently he waited, as still as 
though carved out of stone. The wind 
which heralds the dawn sprang up, lifting 
the tent flap as if entering, and still Winter 
did not move. The sun rose, golden and 
glorious, and as its beams fell through the 
open doorway upon the flickering fire it 
wavered and went out. 

“ The wind blew the flap back into place, 
the tent was dark and cold, and still the old 
Chief crouched beside the dead gray ashes, 
waiting, waiting for the approach of his 
enemy. At last the flap was lifted again, 
and Winter sprang to his feet, drew his hunt- 
ing knife and turned to face the stranger. 

“ Then the Chiefs eyes flashed with scorn, 
for his enemy was no strong Indian or 
young brave in war paint and feathers. It 
was only a fair and gentle maiden, whose 
long dark braids fell below the girdle of her 
trailing, green robe. 

“ * How canst thou, a feeble maiden, break 


The Spirit of Winter 


29 


my power? * he cried scornfully. ‘When I 
breathe the frost kills every flower and fruit, 
when I shake my white locks the snow falls 
and covers the earth and the world is hard 
and dead.* 

“ And she answered, ‘ Your snow van- 
ishes at my approach, your ice melts, and 
when I breathe, grass and flowers carpet 
the bare earth.’ 

“ ‘ When I frown, your blossoms wither 
and soft winds tremble and die away,’ re- 
plied the Chief haughtily. 

“ ‘When I smile, the south wind awakes, 
little seeds stir in the warm earth, while the 
air is full of fragrance and the song of birds/ 
she answered softly. 

“ ‘ I can still command ! ’ shouted the 
Chief, his voice hoarse and broken. ‘At one 
word from my lips the birds fly away, hun- 
gry bears and wolves prowl through the 
forest and the children hide in terror/ 

“ ‘ When I sing the forest is safe and joy- 
ful again/ she replied. ‘ Birds answer me, 
the wood creatures follow me and the chil- 
dren dance and sing beside me! * 


30 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

“ 1 Thou liest ! ' cried Winter, and he 
sprang forward fiercely, to thrust her from 
the tent. 

“ But no sooner had his bony hand 
touched her young shoulder than it fell, 
weak and powerless, at his side. Filled 
with pity the maiden, Spring, approached 
him. She stroked his white locks, she drew 
his fur robe closely about him, she warmed 
his cold hands in her own. 

“ Then a strange thing happened ! 

“ Taller and taller grew the great Chief 
until his head shot up through the tent, 
while his feet took root in the ground. He 
had become a tree, his arms were branches, 
and his fur robe changed to dead and flutter- 
ing leaves. The tent shrivelled and fell 
around the roots, forming a covering of 
moss, while Winter's white locks turned to 
snow which fell in patches upon the ground. 

“ From the tree Spring broke off some 
twigs, around which ice was shining. She 
held them lovingly to her breast until the 
ice had melted, then she kissed them and 
planted them in the earth. They budded 


The Spirit of Winter 


3i 


and through the moss and dead leaves shone 
the blossoms, pink and white as sea-shells, 
while through the dark forest their fra- 
grance was wafted. 

“ 4 Poor old Winter!* murmured Spring. 
4 His day has passed and his power is broken. 
But nothing strong and brave can ever 
truly die. The children will find and love 
these blossoms, these Snow Blossoms, 
through whose beauty the spirit of the 
young and glorious Winter shall live for- 
ever!*** 

The old Indian, the story-teller, was silent, 
gazing at a bit of the snow blossom which 
he held in his hand. 

44 My time will come soon,’* he murmured ; 
44 may the Great Spirit give to my soul an 
abiding place as beautiful as this last token 
of the greatest Chief, the ever Living Win- 
ter.** 



In the dungeon of Black King Winter Eileen is 
imprisoned* But look ! Who is at her window ? 
One whose magic song can bring the maiden joy 
and freedom* Do you know his name ? 


II 

The Call of the Cuckoo 


H UNDREDS of years ago in Ire- 
land there lived a Prince, so glori- 
ous to look upon that he reminded 
one of the sun breaking through the clouds. 
His voice was as beautiful as his face and he 
had the magic power of singing like a cuckoo 
until, with one burst of song, he changed 
himself into that small bird, which looks 
like a bit of sunshine as it flits among the 
branches. Then all the other birds flew 
after him in flocks, singing, and spring time 
came to Ireland. 

Because of this magic gift the Prince was 
called Cuckoo, Prince Cuckoo. 

There was not a fine lady in the land who 
would not have danced for joy if Prince 
Cuckoo had asked her to be his queen, and 
many proud princesses, the story says, broke 
their hearts because he loved them not. 

33 


34 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

For the Prince had had a dream of a 
maiden as different from the ladies of his 
land as sweet brown earth is different from 
snow-drifts or black ice. The Irish maids 
were very fair or very dark, hair of gold or 
of black, eyes blue as the sky or dark as 
night. But the maiden of his dreams was 
as brown of eyes and hair as a thrush's 
wing, as a mountain stream, — what else 
can you think of which is brown and 
sweet? 

The dream maiden was like that. 

Far and wide in his own country Prince 
Cuckoo travelled in the hope of finding her, 
and when he had searched palaces and cot- 
tages in vain, he rode, alone, to other lands, 
still searching. 

One evening he had lost his way in a deep 
forest when a terrific storm broke. Look- 
ing around for a place of shelter, a cave 
perhaps, Cuckoo was delighted to see a 
light from a cottage window streaming 
through the trees. When he dismounted 
and knocked at the door it was opened by 
a very old man. 


The Call of the Cuckoo 


35 


" Come in out of the storm, my poor lad !” 
he cried, never dreaming that the drenched 
figure standing there was a prince. “ Leave 
your horse in the shed yonder and come and 
dry yourself before my fire.” 

And such a splendid fire as it was! The 
Prince was dry and warm in no time, while 
his cheery voice and laughter filled the dark 
little cottage like music. 

Suddenly a tiny door opened, a maiden 
stood there bearing bowls of smoking por- 
ridge and, — she was the sweet, brown 
maiden of the Prince’s dreams! 

He sprang to his feet, and as he gazed at 
her with delight the cottage was filled with 
spring sunshine, with the songs of birds, the 
fragrance of flowers. Slowly they faded and 
once more the blazing fire was the only 
light. 

“ This is my daughter Eileen,” said the 
old man. “ Bring three bowls, my lass, for 
this stranger lad will sup and sleep beneath 
our roof.” 

So before the fire they ate the smoking 
porridge, at least the old man ate his; the 


36 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

Prince could not take his eyes from Eileen’s 
sweet face, and she blushed and smiled 
whenever she lifted her eyes to his. 

The next morning in the forest Prince 
Cuckoo told the peasant maiden of his 
dreams and his love. 

“ I also have dreamed,” she said. “And 
although my dream was of a great prince, 
you, a simple lad, are as tall and golden and 
radiant as he was. And so, although you 
are poor and unknown, I love you more 
dearly than if you wore a crown.” 

Joyously the Prince gave his cuckoo’s 
call. Among the trees it echoed ; in another 
moment the Prince was gone and in his 
place there fluttered a tiny golden bird. As 
he sang on and Eileen listened, his call was 
answered by a thousand bird voices and 
through the forest they came flying, blue, 
orange, gray, scarlet and brown, all singing 
to welcome the Spring. 

Still the cuckoo sang on, until the very 
ground blossomed with delight, On and on 
he sang. Then upon Eileen’s plain brown 
gp^yn and in her soft hair flowers bloomed. 


The Call of the Cuckoo 


37 


early spring blossoms, — violets in her hair, 
anemones around the hem of her gown, 
upon her bosom blood-root, whose gleam- 
ing white stars seemed to have placed their 
roots in her very heart. 

No princess could have looked more 
lovely, and at last, his song finished, the 
Prince stood again in his own form by her 
side. 

“ I could give you jewels, many of them,” 
he said. “ But although each one cost a 
fortune, they would not be as perfect as the 
blossoms. They shall bloom, but I will not 
sing my cuckoo’s song, until I see you 
again ! ” 

Then he told her that he was the Prince 
of her dreams and he must return to his 
own land to tell his people that he had found 
his bride. But he would come back within 
two months, with a train of knights, to 
bring her home. 

Eileen did not seem to care whether he 
was a prince or not. She was only sorry 
to have him leave her and begged him 1 9 
hasten back. 


38 “Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

Two months passed. Again Prince Cuckoo 
stood before the door of the cottage, no 
drenched and lost lad this time, but a great 
Prince in shining armour with a host of sol- 
diers behind him. 

The door was opened very slowly and 
there stood the old father, so bowed and 
bent that his white beard swept the ground. 

“ My daughter, my daughter,” he moaned. 
“A great black king from the north has 
carried her away. Alas, alas, I shall never 
see her again ! ” 

“ Courage, Father!” cried the Prince. 
“ I shall find her and rescue her. When 
you see the trees budding and hear the 
songs of birds you will know we are coming 
back to you.” 

A gleam of hope lit up the old man’s 
eyes as he gazed with astonishment at the 
splendid Prince and his company of knights. 

Prince Cuckoo gave a sharp order and 
off through the trees toward the north rode 
the gallant company. 

For months and months they rode, to the 
land where nothing living was seen or heard, 


The Call of the Cuckoo 


39 


not a bird, not a blade of grass. Many sol- 
diers fell ill or turned back or died. And 
still the Prince rode on ; over fields covered 
with snow, beneath trees whose branches 
had turned to black ice, where the sun 
never shone and the wind howled day and 
night. 

At last he was left alone, and only his 
glorious spirit kept him from falling by the 
way. 

One morning he saw before him a for- 
bidding looking castle, built of black rock 
with turrets of never-melting ice. As he 
knocked with his sword hilt upon the iron- 
barred door it swung back and there in the 
gloomy hall, seated upon a throne covered 
with bearskins, sat the Black King himself. 
Around him stood hundreds of soldiers, 
their spears thrust forward as though to 
charge. 

“ What do you desire here?” demanded 
the King, his voice sounding like wind howl- 
ing through icy branches. 

“ I wish my own maid, Eileen,” answered 
the Prince. 


40 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

The Black King laughed and his laughter 
was like ice cracking. 

“ Look again at these guards of mine/’ he 
exclaimed, pointing to the soldiers. “ These 
were guests also who came asking favours.” 

Prince Cuckoo looked, and to his horror 
he saw that they were all knights who had 
been turned to ice. 

Quickly the King stretched out his hand 
to touch the Prince. In another second he 
also would have been a frozen statue. But 
whether he sprang back in time or whether 
the glory within him still shone about him 
and kept him from freezing, I cannot tell. 
But in a flash he was outside, the doors had 
crashed behind him, and he was saved. 

Around the castle ran a deep, wide stream, 
a moat, whose current was so swift that it 
never froze. No sooner had the Prince 
stepped back from the barred doors than 
they rose high in the air, for they were 
really only a bridge which could be raised 
or lowered to make an entrance into the 
castle. Then between Cuckoo and the 
castle ran that stream, with such force that 


The Call of the Cuckoo 


4i 


anything or any one falling into it would 
have been dashed to pieces in a few sec- 
onds upon the jagged rocks of ice farther 
on. 

How could the Prince ever reach poor 
Eileen, imprisoned behind those black walls 
with only the terrible King to bear her com- 
pany? — Or was she really there? The 
Prince wondered. Had she not frozen to 
death or pined away for lack of sunshine? 

While he questioned he saw to his aston- 
ishment that petals of violets and anemones 
were floating down the stream. Then the 
rushing water turned red as though blood 
were flowing into it. Were these the petals 
of Eileen's blossoms, and was this red stain 
her heart’s blood? 

Ah no ! For upon the stream now floated 
the white star-blossoms of the blood root; 
the Prince knew that it was their juice 
which had stained the stream, and that this 
must be a sign from Eileen ! 

He followed the moat around the castle 
and there, from a high barred window, he 
saw a white hand waving. How could he 


42 " Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

climb that black wall which rose as slippery 
as ice from ground to turret? 

In an instant the Prince had given his 
cuckoo’s call, and changing himself into that 
tiny bird had flown to the high window, be- 
tween the bars, and perched upon Eileen’s 
shoulder. Blissfully she stroked his soft 
feathers. 

“ Oh, my beloved, I can die happily with 
you beside me ! ” she cried. 

But the Prince had no idea of dying. 
Filled with delight he sang his sweet song 
again and again. A faint golden light shone 
through the heavy gray clouds which hung 
over the forest around them. On and on he 
sang. The beating of thousands of wings 
was heard and the songs of birds answered 
him. In clouds of gay colours they flew 
over the dark trees, they dashed against the 
barred door until it swung open. They 
flew with all their force against the Black 
King and beat his face with their wings, until 
he toppled over and broke into a thousand 
pieces as any old piece of ice would. 

Up the great stairway flew the birds ; they 


The Call of the Cuckoo 


43 


broke open the door of the barred cell where 
Eileen had been imprisoned — because she 
refused to marry the Black King — they 
circled around her, singing as though the 
Spring had come to that terrible frozen land. 

And so it had ! 

With the Prince changed back into his 
princely form, his hand in Eileen’s, he 
stepped out of the black castle into a forest 
full of sunshine. Behind him marched the 
knights whom the Black King had turned 
into stone images, for the ice, which had 
frozen even their hearts, had melted on that 
golden day. 

The green trees waved their branches, the 
ground blossomed, the wild flowers bloomed 
afresh upon Eileen’s gown, making it more 
exquisite than any queen’s finery. It was 
her wedding robe ! 

So they journeyed on, with the beauty of 
birds and flowers and waving branches to 
celebrate their joy. So, to-day, they still 
journey, while the birds sing before them to 
tell of their coming. They visit many coun- 
tries; did they not pass your way this year? 





The golden maiden had vanished* But see! 
She has left her three signs with David, her 
lamb, her bird, and her magic flower, — the 
dandelion ! 


Ill 

Candlemas Eve 


I N a tiny stone cottage in the north of 
Scotland there lived a boy named 
David. He lived alone with his grand- 
mother, Granny, he called her, and no child 
ever had a better friend and comrade. 

She was his teacher, playmate and Granny 
all in one. For there were no schools, or boys 
and girls to go to them, on the island where 
Granny had gone many years before to live 
with her fisherman husband. A few fisher- 
men still lived in the other cottages scattered 
about and they were David’s friends too, 
always glad to take him off for a day’s fish- 
ing. 

So the lad was never lonely. How could 
he be? For besides his Granny and the 
fishermen he made friends with every bird 
and animal on the island. The rabbits and 
45 


46 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before 99 

squirrels popped out of their holes in the 
moor when he whistled and followed him 
gaily over the purple heather. Birds perched 
upon his shoulder and even the shy baby 
foxes played with him as though they were 
puppies. Once a wolf cub lived in the cot- 
tage with David all winter, like a pet dog! 
Then when the weather was warm again he 
said good-bye and swam across to the main- 
land. 

In Scotland the night before spring comes 
is called Candlemas Eve, like our Christmas 
Eve or New Year’s Eve, nights before won- 
derful days. And the Scotch people believe 
that St. Bride, a beautiful maiden, brings 
presents to the world, — presents of bird 
songs and sunbeams, just as Santa Claus 
brings us Christmas trees! 

During the winter evenings Granny put 
aside her spinning-wheel, while David sat on 
the arm of her big chair in front of the sweet 
smelling fire of peat. Then she told him 
wonderful stories, and the ones he loved the 
best were about St. Bride and Candlemas 
Eve. 


Candlemas Eve 


47 


“ Tell me again, Granny, what comes first 
to show us that St. Bride is near? ” David 
would ask. 

“ First, through the mist, we hear the 
bleating of many lambs,” Granny would 
say. “ There is no answer from the sheep, 
for these are all baby lambs coming to the 
world to be born in the spring time. Next 
we hear the whistling of birds, the first bird- 
calls we have heard for many months. They 
tell us that the fish are coming in from the 
sea to fill the nets. Then, last of all, we see 
the little flower of flame, the dandelion. 

“ That wee blossom is more like St. Bride 
than anything else; it is her flower. Gold 
and shining is her hair and her girdle and in 
her hand she carries a bit of flame, like a 
great dandelion. That is the sign of what 
she brings to the world, warmth and sun- 
shine, music, beauty and love ! ” 

“ Why doesn’t she come soon, Granny? 
Why don’t we see her signs now? It is 
time for Candlemas Eve, but hark!”— for 
the wind was howling and the storm beating 
against the door. 


48 14 Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

Then a sorrowful thing happened, — 
Granny fell ill! 

David cooked the porridge and swept the 
cottage and waited upon her, as though he 
were a grown-up daughter instead of a little 
lad. But each day she grew thinner, and 
paler, and weaker. The fishermen came to 
see her, looked sadly at her still face upon 
the pillow and shook their heads. At last 
one of them sailed over to the mainland and 
brought back a doctor. 

He put his arm around David as he said, 

44 Unless St. Bride comes soon, my laddie, 
we will no be having the Granny with us 
for lang! ” 

Then he sailed away and David, standing 
at the window, watched the boat tossing like 
an egg-shell on the rough waves, while the 
wind whistled and the sky was dark and 
wild. Suddenly a thought came to him. 

44 1 will go in search of St. Bride! I will 
find her and bring her back to my Granny ! ” 

Then he placed a bowl of milk beside the 
old lady, kissed her and whispered : 

44 1 will be back soon with some of St. 


Candlemas Eve 


49 

Bride's sunshine to make you well, Granny 
darling! ” 

But the little Granny did not open her 
eyes, just smiled and fell asleep again. 

David tucked a bit of oat cake in the 
pocket of his blouse, put on his warm sheep- 
skin coat, pulled his cap over his ears and 
started off. 

Oh, how cold it was ! There were patches 
of snow on the moor, and the trees and 
bushes stood out black and dismal against 
the gray sky. There was not a sign of life 
or bit of colour anywhere. On and on 
trudged David, until he was so cold and tired 
that he wanted to just lie down on the moor 
and go to sleep. His nose was blue, his 
hands numb, his toes freezing. 

“ But first I must find St. Bride for my 
Granny! ” he kept saying to himself. 

Then a mist settled around him; he could 
only see a few steps. He was quite lost and 
colder than ever. There was no sound ex- 
cept the booming of the distant waves 
breaking against the rocks. 

Suddenly there was another noise, quite 


50 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before " 

near. What was it? David stood still 
listening for a moment, then he simply 
jumped for joy ! 

It was the bleating of many baby lambs, 
with no answering call from the sheep. 

“ St. Bride’s lambs ! ” he cried excitedly. 

The mist lifted a little and David saw 
hundreds of lambs running toward him. 
They were wagging their tails, leaping for 
joy, skipping and jumping as they came 
hurrying by to find their mothers. David 
laughed and clapped his hands and they ran 
past, all but one tiny lamb. It was lame and 
couldn’t run and it was shivering with the 
cold. 

“ Poor wee lambkin,” said David, picking 
it up in his arms. “ There, are you a bit 
warmer now? ” 

He had taken his coat off and was 
wrapping it around the frozen little animal. 

Then, — it disappeared, coat and all ! The 
flocks were out of sight and David was alone 
again. But he had forgotten all about the 
cold ; a light was breaking through the mist 
and he gave a whistle of delight. 


Candlemas Eve 


5i 


It was answered by a hundred whistles, 
clear and sweet. They came from the same 
direction in which the waves were breaking 
and David ran toward them. 

Brighter and brighter grew the sky and 
there, upon the beach, were thousands of 
sea-birds, fluttering, flying, running along 
the sand, whistling joyfully. 

“ The fish are swimming in from the sea, 
get your nets ready,” they whistled, and 
David understood them. You couldn’t be 
a Scotch lad, a friend of birds and beasts, 
without understanding their language, could 
you? 

The thought of all the silver fish that he 
would soon help the fishermen bring in re- 
minded David of how hungry he was. He 
pulled out the bit of oat cake and was just 
taking a bite when: 

“ Peep-peep ! ” he heard. 

There at his feet sat a young bird with its 
mouth wide open, crying with hunger. 
David crumbled half the cake and gave it 
to him. In a flash the bird gobbled it and, 
“ Peep-peep,” it went again. 


52 11 Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

David gave it the rest of his cake and 
then, — all the birds had disappeared, there 
was not a sign of one ! 

But the light was growing brighter and 
brighter. David followed it away from the 
beach toward the hills. Suddenly it grew 
so bright that he had to shut his eyes 
for a moment, and when he opened them 
he saw — thousands of dandelions! They 
bloomed so closely together that the whole 
hillside was golden and shiny. David filled 
his hands with them; he held them against 
his cheek and cried, 

“ Dear wee flames, candles of St. Bride, 
have you brought the sunshine to my 
Granny ?” 

As though in answer he heard the sweet- 
est call you can imagine, sweeter and gayer 
than any bird-song. It came from the very 
top of the hill and walking down it toward 
him, among the dandelions, came a wonder- 
ful maiden. Were her hair and her girdle of 
sunshine, were her eyes of stars, and did 
she hold a flame or a dancing dandelion in 
her outstretched hands? 


Candlemas Eve 


53 


David could never tell exactly. He only 
knew that she was gayer and more golden 
and bewitching than anything of which he 
had ever dreamed. By her side frisked the 
very baby lamb which David had warmed, 
still wearing his coat ! And upon her shoul- 
der sat the hungry little bird, singing as 
though he were very well fed indeed ! 

St. Bride — for I am sure you know it was 
she — flung her flame high into the air where 
it turned into a bit of sunshine. Then she 
filled her hands with dandelions and tossed 
them to David. Each one shone like the 
flame which she had held. 

“ Here are sunbeams and songs and love 
for you, my bonnie laddie ! ” she cried. 
“ You have won them all by your kindness 
to my lamb and my bird, and by your great 
love for the dear Granny. Look — have I 
brought you all you wished? ” 

David turned and looked, and lo and be- 
hold, he was standing again in front of his 
own home! 

But how different it was! 

When he had left that morning gray 


54 44 Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before 99 

clouds hung low over the cottage, the wind 
was howling down the chimney, the ground 
was hard and frozen and, worst of all, 
Granny was pale and ill. 

But now, — the sun shone down upon it, 
dandelions bloomed around it, birds were 
singing as they flew over the roof, and there 
in the open doorway — was it possible? — 
yes, there stood Granny herself! 

She was as changed as everything else by 
the coming of St. Bride. Her cheeks were 
pink, her eyes shining and she held out her 
arms to David. 

“ Oh, my bonnie laddie, my Davie, you 
have indeed brought the sunshine you prom- 
ised ! ” she cried. “ Did you even catch a 
glimpse of St. Bride herself? ” 

“ Here she is, Granny dear!” answered 
David. But St. Bride had vanished. They 
heard her sweet call over the hilltop, the 
bleating of many lambs, the whistles of the 
sea-birds, as she drifted on to other lands 
with the spring time in her train. 

By David's side skipped the lamb he 
had warmed, on his shoulder perched the 


Candlemas Eve 


55 


hungry bird, and his hands were full of 
dandelions so big and shining that Granny 
cried: 

“Are they all magic flames, my dearie, 
like the one St. Bride carries? ” 

Perhaps they were, for the sunshine was 
warm and bright, Granny was well, David 
sang and whistled with delight and — Candle- 
mas Eve had come in all its beauty ! 



She was as pretty as a flower, an d that is 
what the butterflies thought, as they led her to 
the Royal Palace* 


IV 


Butterfly Blossom 

S HE was a seller of rice cakes, the 
little Chinese maiden whose story I 
am going to tell you. She walked 
from door to door in the town carrying her 
tray of pink and white cakes, her shabby 
blue dress showing how poor her parents 
were, her gay smile telling every one how 
happy she was. 

It was no wonder that she was happy, for 
I haven't yet told you the most interesting 
thing about her. It is the reason for her 
name of Butterfly Blossom. 

Wherever she went a cloud of butterflies 
always followed her! 

Ever since she was a baby they had 
fluttered about her, thinking perhaps that 
she was a flower, she was so sweet, so fas- 
cinating. Her tiny face, with her big dark 
eyes and sweet mouth, was very like a 
57 


58 14 Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

flower and her body was as slender and 
graceful as a flower stalk. So when the 
people of the town saw a cloud of butterflies 
coming, they would smile and the children 
would laugh and clap their hands, and all 
would cry : 

44 Here comes Butterfly Blossom, get your 
trays ready for her pretty cakes ! ” 

The people of China believe a strange 
thing. They say that the butterflies are the 
spirits of people who are still alive in the 
world. Just as though sometimes when you 
went to sleep the real you , the part which 
laughs and loves, went flying off in the body 
of a butterfly. Wouldn’t it be fun ! 

Of course the Chinese are very careful 
to never hurt a butterfly, they treat them 
with the greatest respect. 

As Butterfly Blossom went tripping from 
door to door selling her cakes, she came to 
the palace where the young Prince lived. 
She did not go to the great gates guarded 
by soldiers; instead she knocked at a tiny 
door in the wall, a door nearly hidden with 
vines. The cook opened it and took the 


Butterfly Blossom 59 

cakes. But as she came day after day with 
her cloud of butterflies about her the Prince, 
riding out or walking in his garden, saw her 
and fell deeply in love with her flower-like 
face and pretty manners. 

“ The little seller of rice cakes shall be 
my queen ! ” he said to his advisers who had 
been urging him to choose a bride. 

They all shook their heads in horror like 
a company of china mandarins, only they 
were shaking instead of nodding. 

“ You must not dream of her; she is noth- 
ing but a poor peasant!” they cried. 
“ Choose a princess, or at least a lady of 
rank and riches.” 

“ My lords,” said the Prince, “ you have 
great faith in the wisdom of the butterflies, 
is it not so? ” 

Again the advisers looked like china man- 
darins, all nodding “ Yes, yes! ” this time. 

“ I shall give a party in my royal garden,” 
went on the Prince. “ The richest and 
noblest ladies of the land will be invited. 
When all are present a cage of butterflies 
will be opened and she whom they choose 


60 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before " 

shall be my queen. Does this plan meet 
with your favour? ” 

The courtiers smiled and nodded and 
clapped their hands softly. 

“A splendid scheme,” they said. “Butter- 
flies are wiser than we are; they can judge 
of the heart as well as of the face. They 
will choose a lady fair and noble for our 
queen.” 

Invitations for the magnificent party were 
sent to all the great ladies of the land. 
(They were written on rice paper, painted 
with butterflies, and beginning at the end 
they read backward up to the first line!) 

Each lady was sure that she would be 
chosen queen and was filled with delight. 
They spent hours having their hair dressed 
and their robes and jewels arranged. When 
the night arrived they looked like huge 
butterflies themselves. 

It was a wonderful garden in which the 
party was held. Little streams ran through 
it, queer Chinese bridges crossed them, 
twisted and dwarfed trees stood about like 
old soldiers, and flowers gleamed from every 


Butterfly Blossom 61 

nook and cranny. As the sun grew low, 
painted lanterns shone out among the trees. 
Music, fragrance and laughter were every- 
where. Never had such a great company 
of noble ladies met together before. Their 
jewels gleamed, their eyes flashed and 
fell, their stiff gowns rustled over the 
grass. 

In one corner, hidden beneath the hang- 
ing branches of a tree, stood Butterfly 
Blossom in her old gown. She had come 
to bring many rice cakes to the palace, as 
the Prince knew she would, and he had 
given orders that she should be sent into 
the garden. 

A chime of bells rang and silence fell upon 
the company. The Prince stood upon the 
stone steps leading down from the palace 
and all bowed before him. 

“ Honoured ladies of my land,” he said, 
“ you have graciously consented to help me 
choose a queen. One among your number 
shall wear the crown, — but which? Ah, 
that is a question too difficult for me to an- 
swer. Therefore I have requested the 


62 " Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

wisest advisers we have to make the 
choice, — behold the butterflies ! ” 

As he spoke a large black and gold 
cage was opened and out flew hundreds of 
gorgeous butterflies. 

“ Choose wisely, beloved spirits/* cried 
the Prince. “ Choose a queen who will be 
as noble of soul as she is fair of face ! ** 

A flutter of excitement passed through all 
the ladies. The butterflies, — orange, red, 
yellow, blue and white, — flew in a cloud of 
colour from one lady to another. 

“ Of course they have chosen me ! ** ex- 
claimed one haughty lady as the butterflies 
rested for a moment above her head. She 
drew herself up as proudly as though she 
were already royal. But the gay cloud had 
passed on. 

“ I knew they would come to me ! ** sim- 
pered a silly little lady in a rosy kimono. 
But the butterflies, who had paused over 
her, flew away and she stamped her foot 
with rage. “ Horrid things ! ** she cried. 

So it went. The butterflies remained for 
a moment over each lady’s head, filling her 


Butterfly Blossom 


63 


with proud hope, and then flew on, making 
her frown or pout or stamp or weep with 
rage. 

As far as the guests could see each lady 
had been judged and refused. In a splen- 
did shining cloud the butterflies circled 
around the garden, paused a moment over 
the Prince, then flew straight to a little 
maiden in a blue gown who stood beneath a 
tree in one corner! 

They covered her shabby dress with their 
gorgeous wings, made a golden crown upon 
her soft brown hair, hung like jewels around 
her neck and arms. As she stepped for- 
ward, robed with their glory, there were 
exclamations of wonder around the gar- 
den. 

“Ah! — Oh! — Who is she? — Is she a prin- 
cess? ” 

The Prince sprang forward to meet her. 
“ No, not a princess,” he answered. “ She 
is your queen ! ” 

Thus Butterfly Blossom, the little seller 
of rice cakes, became a great queen. 


64 44 Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

“ Was she really as noble of soul as she 
was fair of face? ” you ask. 

Ah, listen to the end of the story. 

The Prince, with his lovely wife, would 
have been perfectly happy but for one fear. 
His kingdom was small and his soldiers few, 
and very near him there dwelt a cruel and 
powerful king, called the Dragon, who 
wished to add the Prince’s kingdom to his 
own or else burn it to ashes. 

At last, after many small battles, the 
Dragon King called his whole great army to 
march with him, to kill the Prince and all 
the people who would not surrender. 

The Prince sent for his soldiers also. 
Alas, there was barely one for each hundred 
of the Dragon’s! What chance did one of 
them have of being alive by nightfall? 

In the distance they heard the clash of 
weapons, the pawing of impatient horses, 
the sharp orders of the Dragon King. 
The iron gates of his city were thrown 
open. 

“ Forward! ” cried the king. 

But why did his horse rear and plunge 


Butterfly Blossom 65 

and why did all of his soldiers fall back in 
terror? 

Before them, in front of the gates, stood a 
beautiful lady, robed in cloth of gold and 
wearing a gleaming crown. Around her 
fluttered thousands, no, millions of butter- 
flies. There were so many of them that the 
air was dark and the soldiers fell upon their 
faces, trembling. 

“ Behold the spirits of our enemies! ” they 
cried. “ There are a hundred and more to 
each one of us. They will slay us! Ah, 
pity ! ” 

In spite of stern orders from the Dragon 
King they shook and wept, those soldiers, 
and then they all turned and ran away! 
They truly did! And when the King found 
himself alone with all the butterflies, he 
was so filled with despair that he drew out 
his sword and killed himself! 

So Butterfly Blossom saved, not only her 
husband’s kingdom, but his life and the 
lives of his followers. 

Although the butterflies wish a share of 
your praise also! 




No one who saw Granny working in her 
garden dreamed that her tulips were one great 
nursery for fairy babies and that the other little 
elves danced and played around her to show 
their thanks for the babies' cradles* 


V 

Granny’s Garden 

L ONG years ago in Ireland, in a tiny 
thatched cottage, there lived a dear 
old Granny. She was the sweetest 
little Granny you can imagine, with her rosy 
face framed in a white frilled cap and always 
a gay nosegay in the folds of her snowy 
kerchief. She had flowers in plenty, for her 
garden was the envy of the whole country- 
side. That was small wonder, for no one 
else worked in his garden as Granny did, 
planting, weeding, cultivating and watering 
from dawn to dark. 

Fragrant climbing roses covered the 
thatched cottage, beds of pansies and prim- 
roses bordered the paths, there were vege- 
tables beyond them, and against the hedge 

which separated the garden from the road 
67 


68 41 Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

stood a straight line of sad-looking tulips. 
They were of dull shades of brown and buff, 
for at that time no tulips had the gay colours 
which ours wear to-day. Only a few people 
bothered with growing them at all — perhaps 
that’s the very reason Granny gave them a 
place in her garden, so they shouldn’t feel 
too lonesome. 

And before long, under Granny’s tender 
care, they began to look less sad. Their 
browns and grays turned to red and yellow 
until at last they were really gay, and 
Granny smiled whenever she looked at 
them. Or perhaps it was the other way. 
Perhaps it was because Granny smiled upon 
them that they bloomed into bright colours. 

Often when the little lady was working in 
the garden she crooned a song to herself, 
and one day at sunset, as she was singing an 
old lullaby with which she had often hushed 
her babies to sleep, a strange thing hap- 
pened. Tiny voices joined in the chorus! 
Voices lovely, and yet so soft and faint that 
Granny could hardly believe her ears. 
Then, still singing for fear the strange little 


Granny's Garden 69 

singers would stop if she did, Granny looked 
all over the garden in search of them. She 
peered under the rose-vines, behind the 
bean-poles, over the hedge — there was no 
one to be seen. 

As she passed the tulips she looked down 
at them, and one tightly closed bud was so 
lovely that she stooped over and kissed its 
rosy petals. Then a still stranger thing 
happened ! The blossom opened slowly and 
there, lying on the golden cushioned stamens 
lay — a baby fairy. The singing ceased and 
a ripple of laughter came from the pansy 
border beside Granny. 

“ Look ! Look into all the tulips,” cried 
tiny, silvery voices, “ and see how useful 
your flowers are to the fairy folk.” 

Granny looked, and in each tulip cup she 
found an exquisite little fairy fay, its glitter- 
ing wings folded across its tiny face. They 
were all fast asleep. The rocking of the 
tulips in the wind and her own lullaby had 
hushed them. 

“ The tulips are our own nurseries, the 
cradles for the fairy babies,” cried the voices. 


70 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before M 

41 There were so few tulips in Ireland that 
the fairy fays had faded away for lack of 
cribs, but here they will flourish and grow 
and bless you, you dear Granny. That is 
why we have painted the petals so gaily — to 
show our thanks. Look down at us now 
and watch us dance for you.” 

Granny looked down into the border of 
smiling pansies. What were those tiny 
figures? Were they butterflies? No, she 
looked again and upon each blossom sat 
a wee fairy, its butterfly wings fluttering, its 
merry little face smiling out from under its 
cap of green or gold. Suddenly a light 
breeze blew through the flowers and the 
fairies began to dance — bowing and sway- 
ing, singing and laughing, they danced and 
jumped and flew from blossom to blossom, 
their dazzling wings shining, their laughter 
rippling like fairy music. It was all so gay 
that Granny laughed too. And at her 
laugh, light and silvery though it was, they 
vanished. Granny almost believed it was a 
dream, but no ! in each tulip still lay a sleep- 
ing elf. 


Granny’s Garden 71 

Before the sun rose the next morning 
Granny was out in her garden, digging up 
nearly all the vegetables, making the ground 
soft and fine and planting — tulips, every- 
where! At last the whole garden looked 
like a great tulip-bed with borders of pansies 
and primroses. 

But although the neighbours admired 
them, they scorned Granny for giving so 
much space and time to useless tulips. 

“You cannot eat flowers; we would rather 
grow potatoes ! ” they exclaimed. 

Little did they dream that every evening 
at sunset, when Granny walked among the 
tulips singing her sweetest lullabies, she was 
hushing to sleep the hundreds of fairy babies 
who lay curled up in her tulip blossoms. 
She was giving them a chance to live and 
grow into merry sprites, so that Ireland 
would again be filled with fairy folk and, 
as in the days of old, poetry and music and 
tales of wonder would fill the land. That 
had been the fairies’ gift to Ireland long ago 
when the fairies had care and cradles in 
plenty. 


72 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

Then, one lovely moonlight night, the dear 
Granny died. There was no one left in her 
garden to sing lullabies or watch over the 
fairy babies and their cradles. 

An old miser bought the cottage. He 
stood in the garden looking around him. 

“What is all this rubbish ?” he cried, 
gazing at the tulips. “ I want nothing here 
that is not fit to eat! ” 

He dug up all the flowers and planted 
parsley. At that time parsley had long, 
straight leaves and was used for salad, like 
lettuce. But when the fairies found their 
cradles gone and the old miser with his sour 
face prowling around Granny’s garden, they 
touched the parsley with their magic fingers 
and it curled up and became bitter — as it is 
to-day. 

The dear Granny had been buried in a 
bare field, for the graveyard was miles away. 
The next day some neighbours passed. 
They stopped and rubbed their eyes in sur- 
prise. More came, and more, till the whole 
village stood gazing at that field. What 
do you suppose had happened? It was 


Granny's Garden 


73 


bare no longer. It was gay and beautiful 
with tulips — rose and gold and crimson, — 
dancing in the wind, as though to a melody. 
It was like Granny’s garden only more won- 
derful — more splendid. The fairies had 
done their best work to decorate the grave 
of their dearest friend. 

And to-day, if you plant tulips with a 
thought in your heart for the fairy babies 
who will lie there, your blossoms also will 
be gay, and will dance with the wind or with 
your song, like the tulips in Granny’s 
garden. 




As Jack played the magic tune upon his flute 
the trees budded and blossomed and the children 
danced with delight. 


VI 


The Flute Which Blew From 
Fairyland 

S OMEWHERE, sometime, somehow, 
there was a village where every one 
was perfectly miserable. 

The men walked with their heads down 
and their eyes half-closed, grumbling and 
swearing all the time under their breath. 
The women’s lips all went up in the 
middle and down in the corners, — like this. 
They sighed and groaned while they worked 
and cooked the food, which was so tasteless 
and horrid that the men swore out loud 
when they tasted it and sometimes threw 
the dishes upon the floor. Then the women 
scolded and cried and the children — ran 
away ! 

They were always running away. When- 
ever they were told to wash their hands or 
75 


76 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

learn their lessons or work in the kitchen or 
the garden, they stamped their feet and 
shouted, “No!” and — ran away! Where 
did they run to? They ran to the big apple- 
orchards which grew around the village. 
There were hundreds of apple trees and they 
looked as cross and behaved as horribly as 
all the people. 

The tree trunks were twisted into horrid 
shapes as though they were grumbling all the 
time, their blossoms were few and small and 
the apples sour and rotten. But the children 
liked to climb the trees to get away from 
the scolding grown-ups, and the green 
apples were useful to throw at one another. 
They didn’t have much fun though. They 
had caught the surly ways of the men and 
women, and they slapped each other and 
pulled hair and stuck out their tongues and 
did worse things than the crossest child you 
know. 

There was only one boy who was different 
from the rest. His name was Jack. He 
looked crosser than any of them, but that 
was because in his heart he knew there was 


The Flute Which Blew From Fairyland 77 

something wrong with all the people in the 
village. So he screwed up his forehead and 
looked sulky and puzzled because, although 
he hated every one's cross ways, he didn't 
know what it meant to be different. He 
had never seen any one smile — just think of 
that! 

But one day — wasn't it extraordinary? — 
one day a fairy lost his way and flew right 
into the middle of the village where there 
was an old fountain! Of course the foun- 
tain wouldn't play or sparkle in that dreary 
spot, so it had dried up and the elf perched 
right upon the spout and looked around him. 

“ Goodness gracious ! " he exclaimed. 
“ What a dreary place ! Why, my golden 
cloak is turning gray and, — why, I would 
forget how to fly if I stayed here any longer. 
Hello, boy ! " he called out to Jack, who was 
standing looking at him, his mouth wide 
open in surprise. “ Hello, what is the 
matter with you and every one else in this 
dreadful place? " 

“ I don't know," answered Jack, “ I have 
often wondered. How do you make your 


78 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

eyes and mouth look like that, as though the 
sun were shining through? ” 

The fairy laughed and Jack looked more 
astonished than ever. That amused the elf 
so much that he jumped to the rim of the 
old fountain and began to dance. More and 
more bewildered did Jack look and at last 
the fairy pulled a tiny flute out of his belt 
and began to play upon it. It was the gay- 
est, sweetest, softest little tune that you ever 
heard and suddenly, very suddenly, — Jack 
smiled ! 

The elf stopped playing and clapped his 
hands with delight. 

“ There ! ” he exclaimed, “ if you hadn’t 
smiled I’d have turned into a black goblin, 
I was getting so nervous about you. Any- 
body who can see a fairy generally smiles all 
the time, and you saw me, so I was sure 
there was a smile in your heart somewhere. 
Now listen! I must be off to Fairyland, 
I’m late already for the Queen’s birthday 
party, but because you saw me you really 
belong to us and I’ll tell you a secret. When 
you can play that tune upon the flute you’ll 


The Flute Which Blew From Fairyland 79 

find your way to Fairyland, and when you 
get there you'll learn enough magic to be- 
come a fairy prince or — to make this whole 
miserable village merry if you want to! ” 

“ How can I learn to play the flute? ” be- 
gan Jack. But the fairy was off, looking 
like a sparkle of sunshine in the distance be- 
fore the words were out of the boy’s mouth. 

Jack began to frown again, then suddenly 
he remembered. 

“ I am one of ‘ them.’ I understand now 
why every one here is so miserable. Not a 
single person believes in fairy smiles or 
laughs or dances. I’ll show them ! ” and 
off toward the apple-orchards he ran. 

Although it was spring time, the trees 
were more wretched looking than ever. 
There were a few small yellow leaves on 
them and no sign of a blossom. The trunks 
were so twisted and slippery that it was al- 
most impossible to climb them, the trees 
seemed to be trying to throw the children 
off. 

It was a dull gray afternoon and the 
shivering boys and girls had slipped off the 


8o “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

branches so often that they were dis- 
couraged, and were huddled around trying 
to get warm by slapping each other and 
scolding hard. 

Jack ran up to them — smiling! 

They stared at him in surprise and some 
of the older boys began to laugh — scornful, 
taunting laughs. 

“ He is crazy/* they said. “ Who ever 
saw a face like that? ” 

For answer Jack took his knife out of his 
pocket, cut a twig from one of the dry apple 
branches, made some holes in it, put it to 
his lips — and began to play! The first 
notes were like a clear, sweet bird’s call. 
There had been no birds near the village for 
many years and the sound was so new, so 
startling, that the children sprang to their 
feet. 

Then the music changed. It grew gayer 
and sweeter until it was the same tune from 
Fairyland that the elf had played. In spite 
of themselves the children began to smile, 
then to laugh, to clap their hands, to dance ! 

Such a sight had never been seen in the 


The Flute Which Blew From Fairyland 81 

village before! On and on Jack played, the 
trees began to quiver, to shake, to grow, 
until their trunks were straight and then — 
green leaves unfolded, buds appeared and 
opened in all their beauty, soft grass crept 
up to the trunks and there, in the most per- 
fect orchard this side of Fairyland, Jack 
played while the children danced and 
capered for joy. 

When his music was at the gayest, when 
the children felt they could almost fly for 
joy, Jack — disappeared! 

Whether he flew away or vanished into 
the apple blossoms the children could never 
tell. Only his cap was left lying upon the 
ground under a tree and he was gone. 

Back to the village ran the laughing chil- 
dren, and — well, it took a long, long time for 
the people of that place to get used to smiles 
and laughter and gay words. It took just 
seven years and all that time they had one 
wonderful picture to look at which helped 
them to smile. For all those seven years 
the pink and white blossoms covered the 
trees, their fragrance filled the air and, what- 


82 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before " 

ever the weather in the village, the skies 
over the orchards were as blue as a clear 
spring day. From some trees people might 
have missed the fruit, but these apples were 
so small and sour that only the very crossest 
old man, who stayed cross for nearly all of 
the seven years, could have grumbled while 
they looked at the blossoming trees. 

Then at the end of the seven years Jack 
came back! Up the street of the village he 
walked, tall and splendid and very gay, with 
a golden cloak around his shoulders, a green 
cap with a long feather upon his head, and 
in his hand a flute. As he walked he played 
and behind him came, — what were they? 

“Are they golden leaves fluttering in the 
wind?” asked the men. 

“ No, they are golden butterflies or sun- 
beams,” answered the women. 

“Ah, no, they are fairies ! ” cried the chil- 
dren. 

And so they were, but only the smiling- 
est people in the village could see them 
clearly. Jack led by his music and it was the 
most bewitching music that you ever heard. 


The Flute Which Blew From Fairyland 83 

The golden fairies came flying after him, the 
children joined them, — running, skipping, 
capering, — and the grown people all fol- 
lowed, dancing in spite of themselves. Even 
the cross old man began to smile and hobble 
after them. 

On down the street, past the fountain, 
around the corner, up to the apple-orchards 
walked Jack, with the gay procession after 
him. Beside the blooming trees he stopped 
a moment, whispered an order to the fairies 
and began another tune upon his flute, a 
mysterious little tune like branches whisper- 
ing to the breeze, or streams singing to the 
ferns. 

As he played the fairies flew among the 
blossoms, touching them with their wee 
fingers, and the petals began to fall like 
snowflakes upon the grass. Then where 
the blossoms had been tiny green apples 
appeared which grew, while the astonished 
people gazed, until they became the most 
splendid red and gold apples you can 
imagine. With gales of laughter the chil- 
dren picked up the apples which fell, and 


84 " Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

laughing, eating, dancing and singing the 
whole village gathered around Jack and 
lifted him high in the air. 

“ Will you play your magic music and 
summon the fairies for us every day now? ” 
they asked. 

For answer Jack snapped his flute in two. 

“ You do not need my flute to bring you 
magic now,” he said. “ It is all in your 
hearts. The fairies will come whenever 
you need them. Not at strange seasons 
perhaps, turning blossoms into fruit in a 
few moments, but they will be here in 
autumn leaves and snowflakes as well as in 
sunshine and blossoms. And while we see 
them and laugh with them, why, — Fairyland 
is not more wonderful than our village ! ” 

With one last gay call the fairies rose in 
the air. Through the twilight they gleamed 
like fire-flies. Were they really fairies? 

Oh, but the people of that village knew! 
And because they saw the fairies as fire-flies 
or moonbeams, butterflies or blossoms, the 
magic which the flute had brought from 
Fairyland never left them. If one of them 


The Flute Which Blew From Fairyland 85 

sometimes felt the magic slipping from him 
he hurried to the orchard, cut a twig from 
one of the trees and made holes in it, like a 
flute. Then, awkwardly at first, he began 
to play upon it, but as the magic came back 
to him the music would ripple out like the 
budding of blossoms, the whistles of birds, 
the music of Fairyland. 

We might try that too unless we have so 
much laughter and magic in us that we can 
see fairies without the flute. Can you? — 
And you? — Ah, look behind you — there! 




As the King knelt to be crowned, the 
banner with its three golden lilies streamed 
behind him* It was borne by the little 
Prince, whose dream had come troe l 


VII 


A Prince’s Dream 

W E have all seen pictures or statues 
of Joan of Arc carrying the ban- 
ner of France, have we not? Do 
you remember what was on that banner? 
Golden lilies upon a blue field. For hun- 
dreds of years that was the sign of France, 
blazoned upon shield and flag. It was 
draped over the King's throne, waved above 
his castle, was borne by the knights into 
battle. 

But there was a time, over a thousand 
years ago, before the lilies became the sign 
of France, when the King — Clovis was his 
name — carried a strange shield into battle. 
Three black toads were blazoned upon it! 

This Clovis was a brave and warlike king, 
and in the many battles he fought with his 
enemies the Gauls, whom he was trying to 
87 


88 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

make French subjects, he rode in front of 
his knights, leading them fearlessly into the 
thickest of the fight. And always, when he 
rode homeward, those three black toads were 
scarred and dented, and many times did the 
King narrowly escape a deadly wound. 

Whenever, after a battle, the King rode 
back to his castle, the first thing he saw was 
a little lad standing on the roof of the 
highest turret watching for him. It was 
his son, Sigebert. As soon as the lad saw 
the flash of armour miles away and heard 
the sound of horses tramping and steel jin- 
gling, he knew his father was near, and when 
the drawbridge was lowered over the moat 
the first to cross was a little flying figure, 
crying, “My father, my father is coming 
home!” 

Then the great King would rein in his 
black war horse, and lifting the boy in front 
of him on his saddle he would ride on over 
the bridge into the castle court. 

“ Those toads, Father, those horrid toads 
got dented again to-day,” the little Prince 
would say. “ Some day they will let an 


A Prince’s Dream 89 

arrow or a spear go right through them to 
kill you!” 

“ ’Tis true, Sire,” said a knight riding 
beside them. “ The toads bring you no 
safety; sometimes it seems as if they 
brought you defeat also.” 

The words were repeated from man to 
man, and as they dismounted in the court 
all the knights were shaking their heads 
and gazing at the King’s shield. 

In the great hall stood Clotilda, Clovis’s 
beautiful young wife. As Clovis embraced 
her he said, half laughing, “ Our son here 
tells me the toads on my shield bring me bad 
luck. What do you think?” 

“ I would you changed your shield and 
your faith also ! ” answered the Queen. 
For Clotilda was an earnest Christian and 
longed to have her husband turn from the 
ugly pagan gods he prayed to, and worship 
with her a glorious Heavenly Father. 

That night Prince Sigebert had a dream. 
He thought he was standing in the field of 
golden lilies which grew close to the castle. 
They were shining in the sunshine and wav- 


90 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

ing in the breeze. Sigebert thought he had 
never seen so splendid a sight. But even 
as he thought this, he saw something more 
wonderful. A gleaming angel with great 
silver wings stood before him, and in his 
arms the angel carried a blue shield, as blue 
as the sky, on which were emblazoned three 
golden lilies, like the lilies among which 
Sigebert stood. 

“ These are the flowers of France,” said 
the angel. “ Tell your father that if he car- 
ries a shield like this into battle, if he bears 
also the lilies upon his banner, then he may 
follow them safely through danger — the 
angels will be with him.” 

Was it a dream? Sigebert wondered. It 
seemed so real, he still heard the echoes of 
the angel’s voice as he hurried down the 
stone steps in the early dawn to find his 
father. In the courtyard the horses were 
standing, pawing the ground impatiently, 
and in the castle hall all was hurry and ex- 
citement. News had come that the Gauls, 
the bitter enemies of Clovis, had crossed the 
border of the land the Franks claimed for 


A Prince’s Dream 


9i 


theirs, and a terrible battle must prove 
whether the Franks or the Gauls were the 
masters of France. 

As the little Prince entered, his father’s 
page was handing the King his shield, upon 
which the three toads looked blacker and 
uglier than ever. 

“ Father, Father,” cried Sigebert, “ do 
not carry the toads; listen to my 
dream ! ” 

In those days people thought more about 
dreams than we do to-day, and the King and 
his knights listened attentively to Sigebert’s 
story of the angel. 

“ Carry the lilies, my Lord ! ” cried the 
Queen. And “ Carry the lilies ! ” was re- 
peated by the knights. 

“ I will carry the lilies,” said the King at 
last. “And if I win this victory I will not 
only carry them always, but I will accept 
the faith of my wife and the angels, the 
faith of the Christians.” 

So the army waited until a new shield 
was wrought, sky-blue and bearing three 
golden lilies, like the shield of Sigebert’s 


92 ** Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

dream. Bearing it the King rode forth fol- 
lowed by his brave knights. 

All the next day, and the next the little 
Prince stood upon the turret of the castle, 
watching and listening with beating heart 
for the return of his father. “ Why don't 
they come?" he wondered. “ Can they 
have been beaten? Has my father been 
wounded, — killed? ” 

As the sun rose upon the third day the 
figure of the little lad could be seen dark 
against the glowing sky. His hand shaded 
his eyes as he gazed and gazed down the 
rough road toward the forest. Suddenly a 
blast of trumpets burst upon the still air 
and through the dark trees the Prince saw 
the flash of armour, the fluttering of ban- 
ners, the figure of — could it be? yes it was! 
— his father, the great King, bearing upon 
his arm the shield with the golden lilies! 
As they rode nearer and the lad rushed out 
to meet them he saw that the shield was 
undented, heard the story of the great vic- 
tory, and rode before his father upon the 
royal war-horse into the courtyard ! 


A Prince’s Dream 


93 


Soon after this joyful day a solemn serv- 
ice was held in the chapel of the castle. 
Golden lilies filled the vases upon the altar, 
and the same flower was embroidered with 
golden thread upon the Queen's robe and 
the King's mantle. When he knelt be- 
fore the altar and took the vows of a Chris- 
tian, two knights knelt behind him bear- 
ing his sword and shield, — and at his side, 
holding the new royal banner of sky-blue 
and golden lilies, stood the little Prince, 
Sigebert, through whose dream and faith 
the lilies had come to France! 


The robbers heard that a knight, alone and 
unarmed, was riding through the forest that 
night* 



VIII 


In a Rose Garden 

I F we wander into a rose garden some 
evening when the moon is full, the 
roses may tell us the most wonderful 
tales ! 

The moon will be full to-night. Let us 
go there right away! Close your eyes a 
moment, so — open them, and here we are ! 

Oh, how wonderful it is here ! But hush ! 
The white rose is speaking. Can you hear 
her? Through the fragrant moonlit night 
we listen, and our hearts are stirred within 
us, for it is the story of the Rose of England. 

“ Years ago,” begins the white rose, 
“ when the good King Arthur ruled in Eng- 
land, a certain knight was the King's most 
trusted follower. His name has never been 
told, he was only called The Loyal Knight, 
for he never failed the King. 

95 


96 " Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

“ After a year of warfare the Royal treas- 
ury was empty, the knights weary, and 
when the enemy begged for a short truce 
King Arthur was glad to grant it and give 
his soldiers a chance to rest. But no sooner 
had they scattered to their homes than the 
Loyal Knight discovered that the truce was 
only a pretence; the enemy was planning 
to attack the King unprepared within two 
days, take him prisoner, and sweep through 
his kingdom leaving all in ruins. 

“ The Knight hurried to the King and 
told him his terrible news. 

“ * Even if I could summon my men in 
time, there is no money left in the treasury 
to arm them for battle ! ’ cried the King. 

“ ‘ My Lord/ answered the Knight, ‘ all 
that I have is yours/ Quickly he mounted 
his horse and rode off to his lonely castle 
upon the seashore where he kept his treas- 
ure. At the same time messengers were 
sent galloping over the country calling the 
knights and soldiers to come at once to the 
King’s aid. Would they and the treasure 
arrive in time? 


In a Rose Garden 


97 


“ Early the next morning the Loyal 
Knight reached his castle. Dark and silent 
it stood, every gate locked and barred, for 
the Knight had been away from home for 
years, following the King. 

“ Taking a great key from his belt he un- 
locked the iron-studded doors, made his way 
to his treasure chamber hewn out of the 
rock below the castle, filled large sacks with 
gold and jewels and carried them to his 
horse who waited patiently before the gates. 

“ All day the Knight worked and the sun 
was setting as he locked the doors and 
took a last look at his old home. The rose 
garden beside the castle lay fragrant and 
beautiful as, when a boy, he chased around 
it, playing hide-and-seek behind the bushes 
and statues. 

“ ' Why, there is a little lad now, playing 
as I used to ! ' he exclaimed. 

“ The Knight opened the gate atnd 
stepped into the garden. How beautiful it 
was ! For a moment he forgot battles and 
kingdoms, and swinging the lad to his 
shoulder he walked with him down the 


98 44 Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

overgrown paths between the blooming 
roses and laughed as he placed him upon 
one of the statues. The boy laughed too 
and twisted a wreath of rose briar around 
the Knight’s steel cap. 

44 But night was falling, and remembering 
that the fate of the kingdom lay in his 
haste, the Knight kissed the lad good-bye. 
Mounting his horse he rode off toward the 
deep wood which lay between him and the 
King. 

44 The Knight had not seen any one ex- 
cept the gardener’s lad, but in some way the 
news had spread that a soldier carrying 
great treasure was riding alone and lightly 
armed through the lonely forest that night. 
There, hiding behind the trees, a band of 
robbers lay in wait for him. 

44 Nearer and nearer he came; the robbers 
heard the sound of his horse’s hoofs; 
through the darkness they saw him dimly, 
the bags hanging upon either side of his 
saddle. A few moments more and he would 
be lying dead in the forest — the treasure 
would all be theirs! 


In a Rose Garden 


99 


“ But he had stopped, — had he seen them? 
No, quietly and peacefully he was kneeling 
on the moss beside the road, and through 
the still air the robbers heard his voice 
praying, saying the Aves so many still re- 
peat to-day. In his haste to get the treasure 
he had forgotten his daily prayers, so he lost 
no time in saying them as soon as he remem- 
bered, hoping the angels would understand 
and forgive his delay. 

“ Stealthily the robbers approached him, 
their daggers drawn. Then suddenly they 
drew back in terror. What was that bright 
light which blinded them? They hid their 
eyes, for they saw a shining angel with wide- 
spread wings who hovered over the kneeling 
servant. With each Ave he said she touched 
a bud on the rose wreath which the little lad 
had twisted around the steel cap. Then back 
above the tall dark trees she floated and the 
Knight rose to his feet, his prayers finished. 

“ Once more the robbers started to spring 
out upon him, and once more they drew back 
terrified. 

“ Each bud touched by the angel had bios- 


ioo “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

somed into a white rose of dazzling beauty. 
They lighted the dark forest as with flames 
of thousands of church candles, and in fear 
and wonder the robbers slunk away between 
the trees. The Loyal Knight saw them go, 
and knew that the angel whose presence 
he had felt was no dream, his life and treas- 
ure had been saved that night by a miracle. 

“ Thus the gold arrived in time to buy 
food and armour for the knights who soon 
crowded around King Arthur’s castle. He 
led them against the faithless enemy to vic- 
tory, and for a time there was great re- 
joicing. 

“ Then the gladness was dimmed with 
sorrow, for the Loyal Knight was missing! 
He had been at the King’s side in the thick 
of the conflict, none had seen him fall, but 
when they gathered in the royal castle his 
place at the Round Table was empty. Back 
to the field of battle with a few of his most 
trusted knights rode Arthur. 

No food shall pass my lips until I know 
whether the body of my Loyal Knight is 
safe, alive or dead ! ’ he cried. 


In a Rose Garden ioi 

" The battle-field was strewn with broken 
armour, dead horses and the bodies of many 
soldiers. It was a terrible sight. But what 
was that in the centre of the field? Could it 
be a rose-bush? How could it stand there 
blooming where all else was dead and shat- 
tered? 

“ In wonder the King and his knights 
rode to the spot. Then, dismounting, they 
knelt around the rose-bush and very rever- 
ently lifted the dead soldier whose body lay 
beneath the crimson blossoms. It was the 
Loyal Knight ! Upon every spot where his 
blood had stained the ground a red rose had 
sprung and in their midst, where his steel 
cap bearing the white roses lay, another 
bush had grown, and from its topmost 
branch one great white rose shone like a 
brilliant star. 

“ The King plucked it and held it high for 
all to see. 

“ * This rose, which is like the white soul 
of the Loyal Knight, shall be from this day 
the flower of England! ’ he cried.” 



The Queen had refused all the jewels, all the 
flowers her attendants brought her* At last a 
page appeared with his hands full of daisies, the 
children's flower* 


IX 

Queen Marguerita 

“ T WANT my mother !” cried the little 
I Prince. “ Pm tired of toys and pic- 
ture books, I want to see my mother 
with her shining crown ! ” 

“ But Her Royal Highness has no time 
for a little boy,” his attendants told him. 
“ She is receiving the visiting Emperor and 
you cannot see her.” 

The little Prince ran away from them and 
they could not catch him. Up and down 
the long corridors he raced, in and out of 
the great rooms, looking eagerly for the 
beautiful young Queen, his mother. But 
the rooms, hung with rich tapestry and 
fragrant with flowers, were empty. 

Suddenly the Prince heard the jingle of 

harness and the pawing of horse’s hoofs in 
103 


104 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

the courtyard below and the cry, “ Make 
way for her Majesty the Queen ! 99 

Running to the long window he looked 
out just in time to see his mother in her 
splendid shining chariot, with the visiting 
Emperor beside her, drive out of the court- 
yard and disappear! 

Down the marble steps, across the court 
and out of the bronze gates, ran the little 
Prince. The chariot had vanished in a 
cloud of dust, and although the lad ran so 
fast the soldiers at the gate did not recog- 
nize him and no one could stop him, he 
could not overtake the Queen. 

On and on, out into the country the 
Prince ran. He had lost his way; there 
was not even a road before him now, only 
a path running through a green meadow. 
It seemed to lead right up to the sky. 
Tired and disappointed the little lad threw 
himself down upon the soft grass, wanting 
to cry. Of course he didn’t cry, he was a 
true Prince, you know, so he shut his eyes 
tight for a moment to keep the tears back. 

When he opened them the sun had set 


Queen Marguerita 105 

and the evening star was glowing in the 
pink sky. 

“ Oh, you beautiful star, you are like my 
mother, all shining and soft and wonder- 
ful ! ” he cried. “ Perhaps you are my 
mother, changed into a star, are you? ” 

The star shone more brilliantly as if in 
answer. 

“ Oh take me up there with you ! ” cried 
the Prince. “ I am lonely here, I want my 
mother! ” 

As easily as though he were a bit of 
thistledown the star drew him up through 
the air; up, up, until he rested upon a rosy 
cloud beside her. Seen close by she was 
lovelier than ever, but alas, she was not his 
mother ! 

“ Twinkle now like a little star and live 
here with me, my Prince ! ” said the shining 
star. The Prince found himself twinkling, 
twinkling. It was great fun for a time and 
the small stars around him were delighted 
to see him. They were very gay and 
friendly, quite like other little boys. 

“Where are all your mothers?” the 


io6 11 Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before " 

Prince asked. “ She is coming soon,” they 
answered. “ She is very beautiful. ,, 

Then the moon rose ! She was beautiful 
indeed, this radiant mother of the stars, but 
the little Prince almost stopped twinkling, 
he wanted his own mother so badly. 

The night passed and a wonderful stir 
and quiver filled the air. “What is going 
to happen?” asked the Prince. 

He had never seen the sun rise, and when 
the sky grew brighter and that strange thrill 
of waiting for something marvellous to hap- 
pen filled the earth and heavens, the Prince 
was so excited that he almost fell out of the 
sky. 

“Surely the Queen is coming! My 
mother, my mother ! ” he sang, if stars can 
sing. Anyway his heart sang. 

Then the sun rose! Gorgeous, radiant, 
more beautiful than any queen, his glory 
filled the world. The birds sang, the blos- 
soms opened, the air quivered and the sky 
grew blue in welcome. Only the little 
Prince was filled with sorrow. He felt 
himself growing dimmer and dimmer. “ I 


Queen Marguerita 107 

will soon go out,” he whispered, 11 and my 
mother will never find me.” 

Far below him he saw, a green meadow. 
The dew upon it sparkled like his mother's 
jewels, the birds sang and fluttered over it. 

“ Let's slide down into that lovely field 
and shine there, instead of going out here,” 
he cried to the stars around him. They 
laughed with glee and down they tumbled, 
a whole cluster of falling stars, into the 
green grass. There indeed they shone, a 
little changed but still lovely and glimmer- 
ing, — gold and silver daisies ! 

They danced with the breezes, bowing 
and swaying and looking so bewitching that 
a group of passing children shouted with 
delight. 

“ These are our flowers ! ” they cried. 
“ We shall play with them all day and they 
will tell us secrets.” 

So the boys and girls made daisy chains 
and crowns of gold and silver flowers, and 
the daisies didn't mind being picked. They 
loved playing with the children and they 
knew there was enough of the star life in 


108 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

their roots for them to fly back to the sky 
and shine again there whenever they 
wished. 

“ See, I am making ladies with frilly white 
caps on ! ” cried a child, drawing a face with 
a stalk of grass in the soft golden centre. 

“ I am going to see whether my mother 
loves me,” cried another child. “ She does, 
she does not, she does,” — he went on pulling 
the petals off the daisy as he said the words. 
“Yes, she does, she does!” he cried, clap- 
ping his hands just as if he had not known 
it all along. 

But the daisy plant which was the little 
Prince drooped its head. “ My mother,” 
he whispered, “ does she love me, I wonder? 
Will she ever find me? ” 

****** 

That night a great ball was given in the 
royal palace in honour of the visiting Em- 
peror. Gorgeous jewels were brought to 
the Queen with which to array herself. But 
she pushed them all aside. 

" My little son has been gone all day,” 


Queen Marguerita 


109 


she sighed. “ I have no heart to dress and 
dance. He came in search of me, I who 
have had no time for months to play with 
him! Now perhaps I shall never see him 
again ! ” 

Then her ladies brought her flowers from 
the royal gardens to wear instead of jewels. 
First they sent for lilies, but she would not 
look at them. 

“ They are too stiff and formal, like my 
Court,” she said. 

Then they brought basketfuls of roses, 
splendid, fragrant roses. 

“Ah, no, they are too proud, like all the 
nobles ! ” she cried. 

At last they brought great bunches of 
violets, and she wept. 

“ They are too sad, as I am,” she whis- 
pered. “ Oh, my boy, my little lad, where 
are you? ” 

“ Your Highness, the Prince will surely 
come back soon,” the attendants cried, “and 
you must not be late for the ball! If the 
visiting Emperor is angry he will make war 
upon us now, when the country is unpre- 


no “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before 99 

pared. Three times His Majesty, the King, 
has sent for your Highness ! ” 

At that moment a young page entered 
with his arms full of daisies. “As I passed 
through a meadow I saw these growing 
and gathered them for the Queen,” he said. 
“ She had refused the stately lilies, the royal 
roses, and the fragrant violets from the 
palace gardens, so I thought these simple 
shining flowers might please her. They 
were dancing like merry children at play.” 

As the Queen looked at the daisies she 
smiled. “ They remind me of my little 
Prince,” she said. “ They shall be my only 
jewels.” 

Quickly the attendants wove them into 
her dark hair where they shone like stars. 
She pinned them upon her breast and gath- 
ered a great bunch in her arms. As she 
did so she heard a cry of, “ Mother, mother, 
how beautiful you are ! ” 

The daisies in her arms were gone, and 
instead her little son was clinging to her! 

“ Mother, I have looked for you every- 
where ! ” he cried. “ You are lovelier than 


Queen Marguerita hi 

the sun or the moon or the fields all spark- 
ling with dew. I know, for I have been to 
the sky in search of you. Can I stay with 
you always, or would you rather have me a 
twinkling star or a shining flower? ” 

Closely the Queen pressed him to her 
heart. “ No flower of the field, no star in 
the sky, is as dear to me as my little son,” 
she answered. “ The ball must wait while 
I put you to bed myself and sing you my 
sweetest lullabies. Later, when you are in 
the land of dreams, I shall wear your flower 
to the ball to tell my people that from this 
day my name shall be Queen Marguerita, 
(Daisy), and that the gold and silver daisy, 
the children's flower, shall be the flower of 
our country forever ! ” 



"My blessing upon you, Brother Eagle,” said 
Saint Colum. "A curse upon thee, Colum of 
the gown,” answered the eagle* 


X 


The Cry of the Eagle 

F AR in the north of Scotland there is 
an island upon which stand many 
black stones, looking like hunched-up 
figures of dwarfs, wizards or giants. 

Before these stones the people of the 
island used to pray and offer gifts, and then 
turn around to rob, murder and do the other 
cruel things which they believed the ugly 
stones, their gods, wished. 

But one day a ship landed at that island, 
and from it stepped a man in a long white 
robe, with a hood drawn over his gray locks. 
He was Saint Colum, and he had travelled 
to this far-away spot to teach the people to 
cease serving black stones and follow in- 
stead a Heavenly Father. 

Saint Colum loved not only men, women 
and children, but birds and animals and the 
IJ 3 


1 14 “Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

flowers which grew over the island. When 
he walked across it, praying aloud as he 
walked, the bits of life in the birds’ eggs 
would quicken into baby birds, the frost- 
bitten buds on the bushes would unfold, and 
the butterflies, fast asleep in their cocoons, 
would waken and tear open their coverings. 

One day as he walked thus he came upon 
an eagle, who had just killed a lamb. 
Proud and wicked the great bird looked as 
he stood upon one of the black stones with 
the poor dead animal in his claws. The 
Saint felt sorry for any one whose heart was 
full of angry pride, and in his sweet old 
voice he said: 

“ My blessing upon thee, Brother Eagle.” 

“ A bad end to thee, Colum ! ” answered 
the eagle angrily. At that the Saint looked 
at him for a long time in silence, then he un- 
derstood. 

“ It was a man you were once, Brother 
Eagle,” he said. 

“ Maybe so and maybe no,” muttered the 
bird. “ But the black stones were good 
enough for me. What did you come here 


The Cry of the Eagle 115 

for? You, with your white robe and your 
soft face ! ” 

“ I came to bring help and comfort, and 
that seems to be what you need most of all/’ 
answered Colum. “ Who are you? ” 

“ Black Angus was my name, and there 
is only one thing which could bring comfort 
or help to me. I lost my own lass, — curses 
be upon the black stones, for they changed 
her into one of them the same day as they 
turned me into an eagle. That was a hun- 
dred years ago, and still I come here day 
after day hoping that one of the stones upon 
which I rest may be my Kirsteen. Find her 
for me and I will trust you; come here again 
with no news of her — and I will pick out 
your eyes and the eyes of all your white- 
faced monks ! ” 

Back to his little chapel walked Colum, 
pondering deeply. 

“ God is good,” he said in a low voice. 
And each time he said it a shining daisy ap- 
peared in the grass, or a bird sprang upward 
toward the sky, singing its first sweet song. 

Around the chapel were flowers with blue 


1 16 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

and white and scarlet blossoms, which 
swung like softly ringing bells. They had 
never bloomed in the island before Colum 
came, so the people named them after him, 
Columbines. 

“ Brothers/' said the Saint to his monks, 
who had come in from fishing, milking and 
farming and stood waiting for him in the 
chapel. “ My brothers, who can tell me 
aught of a man named Black Angus who 
lived on this island a hundred years ago, 
who loved a lass named Kirsteen, and who 
to-day, in the form of an eagle, kills the 
helpless animals and devours them upon the 
black stones? ” 

Colum was an old man, but one of the 
monks was older still. " I have heard that 
name/' he said. “ My mother used to tell 
the story of one named Angus, who cursed 
the Black Stones because his ship had been 
wrecked and he had lost all the gold he had 
stolen from honest merchants. 

“ To punish him for his curse the gods of 
the Rocks changed him into an eagle, and 
his lass they turned into that distant stone, 


The Cry of the Eagle 117 

— there, do you see it? Beyond all the 
others, stretching out to sea? Thousands 
of ships have been wrecked upon it in mist 
and storm.” 

All night Colum knelt in thought and 
prayer within the chapel, while outside in 
the moonlight the columbine bells rang 
faintly as though to cheer him and help him 
find an answer to the question which tore 
his heart — how to save the soul of Black 
Angus. 

As the sun rose he stood again beside the 
rock where he had found the eagle the night 
before. A harsh scream was heard, and 
there before him stood the bird, his wicked 
eyes gleaming with a red light. 

“ Have you found my lass?” he de- 
manded, “ or shall I breakfast this morning 
from your white face? ” 

“ I have indeed found her, my brother,” 
answered the Saint sadly. “ You can see 
her yonder. She has become that black- 
pointed rock, beyond the line of others 
which run into the sea. Upon her breast 
many good ships have been torn to splinters 


1 18 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

and, alas, I know of no way to save her or 
you. Last night as I prayed I had but one 
answer, and I understand it not. These 
were the words I heard : ‘ Black Angus must 
save as many lives as Kirsteen has lost be- 
fore she can regain her woman’s body and 
soul.’ ” 

At these words the eagle rose and uttered 
a cry so piercing and desolate that it could 
be heard for miles around. At the sound 
Colum sprang to his feet joyously. 

“ Wait ! 99 he cried. “Wait, Brother 
Eagle! At last I understand. A mist is 
blowing in from the sea, the black rock that 
was your dear maid will soon be hidden and 
I see a ship disappearing into the mist, sail- 
ing straight toward the rock and death. Fly 
toward her, warning the captain with your 
sharp cry, and begin to-day to save the lives 
that will give you back your love.” 

“ But, alas,” he added, as the eagle spread 
his great wings, “ alas, I know of no way for 
you to lose your bird’s form and become a 
man again ! ” 

But the eagle had not waited. Flying like 


The Cry of the Eagle 119 

the wind in the direction of the ship, his 
piercing screams rang out like warning 
cries, and suddenly far off, beyond the cloud 
of fog, Colum saw the ship sailing away in 
safety ! 

Thus for weeks and months and years 
Black Angus worked. In mists and rains 
and great storms his cries could be heard for 
miles around, and Colum, listening for them, 
was filled with joy. He grew to love the 
storms, for he knew that each one brought 
Angus another chance to rescue his love and 
do noble deeds instead of cruel ones. 

Then one night a terrific storm wakened 
Colum and he hurried to the seashore to 
see whether he could help shipwrecked 
sailors. There, in a flash of lightning, he 
suddenly saw the whole coast as clearly as 
though it were daylight. The sharp black 
rock that had been Kirsteen was moving; it 
rose from its place in the sea, changed into a 
woman’s form and stepped from the crash- 
ing waves to the beach! In her arms she 
held an eagle, and in a lull of the storm 
Colum heard her murmur: 


120 41 Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

44 My beloved, my Angus, you have saved 
me, how shall I save you? ” 

Toward them, driven by the fury of the 
winds and waves, a ship was borne. The 
pointed rock which had been Kirsteen was 
gone, but the shore was lined with other 
rocks, which, in the faint gray light of dawn 
and the flashes of lightning, the sailors saw 
clearly. But the fury of the storm drove 
them on, as powerless to steer out of danger 
as though the ship had no rudder. 

44 Look ! Look ! ” shouted Colum. 44 Can 
nothing be done to help? ” 

Then he saw a strange sight ! Black An- 
gus had saved Kirsteen, he had finished his 
task. But he had saved lives for so long 
that he was now ready to give his own for 
these unknown sailor lads, who were gazing 
with frantic terror at the rocks and the 
mountainous waves which drove them on- 
ward. As Colum watched he saw the eagle 
fight his way through the storm to the ship, 
and with miraculous strength grasp the 
bowsprit in his beak and try to turn the 
ship from its deadly course. One of the 


121 


The Cry of the Eagle 

bird’s great wings hung limp and useless, 
his claws were torn and broken, he felt his 
very life-blood flowing from him. Still he 
pulled and dragged, fluttering his one wing, 
holding on with his twisted claws, while the 
sea grew red with the blood which poured 
from him. 

Colum stood upon the rock, his white 
robe fluttering like a flag of distress, while 
below him upon the shore he heard a woman 
sobbing. 

A shout of joy went up from the sailors 
as the ship turned out of its deadly course 
and sailed seaward! But the eagle, where 
was he? As suddenly as the storm had risen 
it died down, the golden rays of the sun 
poured through the dark clouds, the rag- 
ing waves became blue and quiet, and still 
the Saint could see no sign of the great bird. 
Had he fallen, lifeless, into the sea? 

Then a smile of joy broke over his face 
and he exclaimed : “ God is good ! God is 
good ! ” 

The birds broke into song, the buds into 
blossom and the whole world was full of 


122 “Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

spring glory while he gazed at two figures 
upon the shore, one the beautiful woman, 
Kirsteen, and beside her, with his arm 
about her, a man, tall and dark and noble ! 
— Black Angus had found his soul ! 

They were married by Colum in the little 
chapel while the columbines rang the mar- 
riage bells and nodded with delight, and 
from that day the people of the island gave 
the flower two names. One was the English 
name of Columbine, after the Saint, and the 
other was the Latin name of Aquilegia, be- 
cause aquila is the Latin for eagle, and 
Black Angus, who had been an eagle for so 
long, became Colum’s most devoted friend. 

Those are the two names we use to-day 
in our land, where the gay blossoms of the 
columbine nod in our gardens and along our 
roadsides. 

Have you not seen them? In our gardens 
they are pink or white or violet, but grow- 
ing wild they are generally scarlet with 
golden linings to their bells. They can cling 
to rocks in woods or beside streams, where 
no other flowers can keep their footing or 


123 


The Cry of the Eagle 

find beds for their roots. For they are fear- 
less and strong and they love both sun and 
shadow, woods and fields, as did their Saint 
Colum, about whom their bells chime lov- 
ingly with every breeze. 

And the bird who is the sign of our coun- 
try, graven upon our money, who is he? 

The noble, kingly eagle, whose strength 
is so great that he, like us, may live to serve 
and to save ! 




It is Midsummer's Day and as the full moon 
rises, — look ! — the garden is full of enchantment* 


XI 

The Enchanted Garden 

L OOK! the old postern door to the 
garden is open ! Let us slip in 
quickly and close it behind us. For 
this is Midsummer’s Day, and if we gather 
some seed from the green ferns growing be- 
side the door we shall hear tales and see 
visions of rare enchantment. There, the 
precious seed is safely gathered! Now let 
us pass through the gate and close it lightly 
behind us, for to none but us, with the fern 
seed in our pockets and magic in our hearts, 
will the flowers within yield their secrets 
to-day. 

Do you see that clump of golden flowers 
yonder in the border? We call them mari- 
golds, but they were not always brilliant 
golden blossoms. Touch your eyelids with 
125 


126 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

the fern seed and look again. The blossoms 
have gone, and in their place stands a lovely 
maiden with golden locks. Her arms are 
outstretched and her face is uplifted. At 
whom is she gazing so adoringly, so plead- 
ingly? At the great golden Sun. She loves 
him with all her heart, and day after day 
she stands gazing upward pleading with him 
to love her. Slowly her golden curls turn 
into the petals of a flower, her tired little 
feet take root, her green-robed body be- 
comes a stem. Her name is Mary, this 
golden-haired little maiden who so vainly 
loved the Sun, and now she has become a 
marigold, always turning her sweet face up- 
ward to watch her love ! 

But what is happening to that bed yonder 
beneath the trees? We still see it filled with 
tall, red lilies, but touch your eyelids with 
fern seed and place some also behind your 
ears. There, the lilies are gone and we hear 
a loud noise of hissing and rustling. The air 
is filled with smoke and through the grass 
toward us crawls a horrible serpent. He is 
covered with black scales and from his poi- 


The Enchanted Garden 127 

sonous fangs flames flash and smoke rises. 
He is called the Serpent Sin, and many a 
brave knight and lovely maiden has he 
scorched with his flaming breath and poi- 
soned with his cruel fangs. But see, behind 
a tree, watching, there stands a knight. He 
is young St. Leonard. Drawing his sword, 
he springs upon the serpent. But the ter- 
rible creature scorches the youth with his 
breath and blinds him with a cloud of smoke 
while he wounds the knight again and again 
with his sharp fangs. The ground is slip- 
pery with Leonard’s blood, he is faint and 
dazed. Has he lost the battle? He staggers 
wildly to his feet and with all his remaining 
strength he grasps his sword and deals the 
black serpent a deadly stroke. With a 
frightful hiss, the serpent draws back his 
ugly head with the red fangs thrust out 
to strike death to his enemy. But Leon- 
ard does not falter, his sword slashes un- 
til the serpent falls back, dead, his head 
severed from his long and slimy body. 
Upon the bloody field stands St. Leonard, 
victorious, and from every spot where the 


128 44 Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

Knight's blood has fallen there springs up a 
red lily. Can you not hear their sweet bells 
pealing to celebrate the great victory? 

There is another sound from that clump 
of foxgloves in the corner. They are all 
chuckling with amusement. Can you hear 
what they are saying? “ That stupid fox 
was shot by the farmer last night,” ripples 
one, 44 because he boasted he was so clever 
he didn’t need us to protect him.” “ Yes, 
and a whole pack of little foxes was caught 
in traps on the hills ! ” cried another, 44 be- 
cause when their grandmother told them to 
wear us on their paws before frisking around 
they told her she was too old-fashioned.” 
44 If they were only as wise as their father,” 
says that tall pink spike, 44 they would know 
that with our blossoms upon their feet no 
one can hear them, and they are safe to 
dance in the moonlight, run races over the 
hills and even carry off a young chicken 
sometimes for a midnight feast! ” 

Up the path we pass, under a trellis of 
roses where purple heliotrope stretches out 
in fragrant beds on both sides. 


The Enchanted Garden 129 

Stop and pick a spray and place it over 
your heart. Why, where are you, and you, 
and you? We are all invisible to each other 
as we stand in the enchanted garden, wear- 
ing the fragrant purple blossoms. That is 
its magic secret on Midsummer’s Day. 

Listen, the blossoms are telling the story 
of how they helped a peasant lad win a prin- 
cess. A terrible ogre had carried the Prin- 
cess off to his grim castle and locked her 
up there while he prepared for a great bridal 
feast. The castle was guarded so closely 
that not even the army of the King, the 
father of the Princess, could force a way in. 
The King was in despair. " I will give half 
of my kingdom and my daughter’s hand in 
marriage to any brave youth who can rescue 
her!” he cried. A young peasant slipped 
from the ranks. 

He had worked for a year in the royal 
gardens, learning to know the fair Princess 
as she came daily to gather flowers. He 
thought she was the most perfect blossom of 
them all. 

Quickly he hurried to those gardens and 


130 41 Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

plucked two sprays of heliotrope. One he 
placed upon his heart, making him invisible, 
the other he hid in his pouch. Thus armed 
he hastened to the ogre’s black castle. A 
young moon was rising and the poor Prin- 
cess was leaning out of the tower window, 
weeping as if her heart would break. Climb- 
ing up the great stones, to her unseen, the 
lad whispered, “ Courage, dear love. In the 
winter the little plant thinks itself in prison 
under the dark earth. It blooms again in 
the sunshine and so shalt thou. Place this 
blossom now upon thy heart.” 

The Princess saw nothing, but she knew 
and loved that voice and she felt a soft, fra- 
grant flower placed in her hand. She laid it 
upon her bosom and held out her arms. In 
his own strong ones the peasant clasped 
her. He had fastened a rope to the sill and 
with the Princess in his arms he lowered 
them both down to safety. That night in 
the garden of the King’s palace a joyous 
wedding feast was held! And the bride- 
groom was a peasant lad, whose only bridal 
gift to his little princess was the spray of 


The Enchanted Garden 13 1 

heliotrope which had given her back her 
love and her freedom. 

The heliotrope has finished its story, and 
the sun is setting. Step softly down this 
path bordered with poppies, the flowers of 
sleep. 

Long ago in Greece a mother was heart- 
broken because her lovely daughter had 
been stolen from her by the Black King of 
the Under World. While the maiden, Pros- 
erpine, was playing in the meadow, gather- 
ing violets and lilies, this terrible king had 
swooped down in his chariot drawn by four 
black steeds and had carried her away. 

“Where has she gone?” cried the poor 
mother. “ While I have breath in my body I 
shall search for my darling without ceasing.” 

So out into the world she went, and be- 
cause when night fell she wandered from 
the path, she kindled huge bonfires upon the 
highest mountains, which blazed up in the 
darkness and showed her the way. Thus on 
and on, by day and night, without food or 
sleep, the poor mother journeyed. 

From the skies above the gods saw her 


132 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

and they were filled with pity. “ To rescue 
Proserpine from the power of the Black 
King the mother must have strength ! ” they 
cried. “ Let us send her aid.” 

They let fall tiny seeds from their miracu- 
lous gardens, and suddenly, around the feet 
of the mother, poppies sprang up, red and 
white and golden. 

“ What do they mean, are they a message 
from the gods?” asked the mother. She 
knelt down to look at them more closely, for 
through the gathering twilight they gleamed 
like strange butterflies. Their dewy fra- 
grance was all around her; curiously she 
tasted the black seeds which grow in the 
hearts of some poppies, and sleep, like a 
great mantle, enfolded her. 

Upon the bed of poppies she rested, and 
gained such strength that, although she had 
to pass through the terrible gates of the 
Under World, she entered and found her 
beloved daughter. 

Perhaps their breath to-day makes us 
sleepy too! 

And see, the stars are coming out softly 


The Enchanted Garden 


133 


in the sky. Down more steps we wander 
and along a path which brings us back to the 
gate of the enchanted garden. See, it is 
closing, the moonlight bathes the flowers, 
and our day of wonder is over. Out of 
the garden and down the little path we 
wander while the gate closes noiselessly be- 
hind us. 

But as we walk home beneath the stars, 
we carry away in our hearts these tales and 
these visions. And often and often as we 
pass or pick or plant a flower of the En- 
chanted Garden, we will think again of these 
dear old tales which have been told by fire- 
sides and in sunny gardens for hundreds of 
years. 




As the sun was setting Fair Earth beheld a 
glorious figure coming toward her* 


XII 

Fair Earth 


L ONG years ago, the Indians say, the 
world of people grew so wicked that 
the Great Spirit put them all into a 
lake. Only two were left alive, a beautiful, 
dark-eyed maiden and her splendid brother. 
The maiden’s name was Fair Earth and her 
brother was the Wind. 

He could be very gentle and tender, but 
much of the time he was tearing over the 
world, roaring as he blew the clouds in all 
directions and bent the trees down to the 
ground. You see that was all the fun he 
had ! There were no children to play games 
with, no camp-fires to blow, no flowers to 
dance in the Wind. There was nothing but 
that great lake and the streams running 
from it, a few mountains and fields and the 
tent of birch bark where the Wind lived 
with his sister. 


*35 


136 14 Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

After Earth had tidied up the silvery tent 
there was nothing for her to do either. She 
used to sit on the ground, longing for some 
one to talk to. Of course there were no ani- 
mals, for there was nothing for them to eat. 
How Earth would have liked a squirrel to 
play with or a robin to sing to her ! 

Every evening the Wind sat outside the 
tent blowing the clouds away to bed. One 
night when they were all tucked up, he 
called Fair Earth and said: 

“ My sister, I have had a dream. To- 
morrow five Indian Chief Spirits will come 
to ask your hand in marriage. To the first 
four do not answer a word. If you do you 
will lose the best gift you may ever have to 
give to the world. But when the fifth asks 
you to be his wife answer ‘Yes/ ” 

The Wind knew that some day Fair Earth 
would have another name. She would be 
called Mother Earth, the mother of all the 
Indians who came afterward, and it was 
very important that their father should 
bring to Earth the best gift in the world. 

Earth was much excited. Many times 


Fair Earth 


137 


during the night she ran out of the tent to 
look at the stars, longing for the day to 
break. 

At last the sun rose in all its glory, Fair 
Earth's wedding day ! Hour after hour the 
maiden sat upon the ground beside the tent, 
waiting. Would they never come, those 
Spirit Lovers? 

At last she saw — far, far off — something 
crimson coming nearer and nearer. As it 
came to the foot of the hill where Fair Earth 
sat waiting she saw it was the figure of an 
Indian, whose head feathers and garments 
were of gleaming crimson. 

He climbed the hill and Earth saw that 
he looked quite fierce. She was almost 
afraid of him, and when he cried, “ Fair 
Earth, marry me ! ” she drew back in hor- 
ror. 

“ What, you will not! ” he cried, his face 
growing so angry that it became as red as 
his feathers. He stamped upon the ground 
in rage, — and sank right in up to his neck ! 

Then as Earth gazed at him in wonder 
his crimson head and feathers changed into 


138 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

an enormous beet, the first in the whole 
world ! 

“ Don’t think of that ugly fellow, look at 
me! I am something worth seeing! ” cried 
a voice, a very important sounding voice. 

Earth turned and saw a short and dumpy 
Indian standing beside her. In his head- 
piece was a bunch of silver feathers, and he 
looked as though he felt very grand as he 
exclaimed : 

“ I am willing to share my silver feathers 
with you as my bridal gift! Were you not 
waiting for me? ” 

When Earth shook her head, smiling at 
him, he fell to the ground in astonishment, 
his feathers curled tightly around him, and 
he became, — a fine cabbage! 

“ Come, Fair Earth, be my bride! ” cried 
a merry voice, and up the hill hurried a jolly- 
looking Indian with yellow feathers and gar- 
ments. He was so smiling that Fair Earth 
laughed back at him and wanted to say, 
“Yes.” But her brother’s words came to 
her mind and she stepped back, still smiling. 

“ Oh, Earth, you surely can’t refuse me ! ” 


Fair Earth 


139 


cried the merry Indian, and, falling back- 
ward in surprise, he rolled down to the bot- 
tom of the hill, where he lay, — a splendid, 
golden pumpkin ! 

“ He still looks very gay/’ sighed Earth. 
“ Oh, dear, suppose no other lover comes 
after all! How sorry I shall be I didn’t 
marry him ! ” 

Suddenly she saw a puff of smoke in the 
distance. What could it be? The Wind 
blew a dead tree or two into flames to warm 
them sometimes in the winter time, but this 
was summer time, and besides, there was 
not a breath of Wind moving. The fire 
seemed to be moving toward her, and pres- 
ently Fair Earth saw it was an Indian 
wrapped in a brown blanket who was blow- 
ing smoke from a pipe. She laughed out 
loud, for she had never seen a pipe before. 
Every now and then he stopped, and tear- 
ing a piece off of his blanket, he stuffed it 
into his pipe while the smoke curled up 
higher than ever. 

“ Greetings, Fair Earth! ” he cried, as he 
came nearer. “ See what a nice comfortable 


140 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

husband I would be ! I would smoke all the 
time instead of grumbling. Marry me and 
I will give you one of my brown blankets 
for a wedding gift ! ” 

Was not this the present the Wind had 
spoken of? thought Earth. But no, this was 
only the fourth Indian, and her brother had 
said the fifth would bring the finest gift. 

She shook her head sadly, and the angry 
Indian puffed out a cloud of smoke, broke 
his pipe in two and threw off his brown 
blanket. Beneath it was a soft wrapping of 
green. It enfolded him, his feet took root 
in the ground and he was — the first tobacco 
plant! 

Slowly the rest of the day passed. Earth 
began to worry and wonder whether her 
brother had counted wrong. 

But just as the sun was setting she heard 
a rustling. It sounded as though tree tops 
were singing in the wind. But there were 
no tree tops and the Wind had not come 
home. Nearer and nearer it came, and 
Earth beheld a figure as glorious as the set- 
ting sun. It was an Indian with golden 


Fair Earth 


141 

feathers in his head-dress who walked 
lightly toward her, and beside his footsteps 
sprang up green stalks bearing golden, 
waving tassels. 

“ Earth, dear Earth, will you be my 
bride? ” he asked. 

Earth’s eyes were dazzled by his gleaming 
beauty. She gazed upon the ground and an- 
swered shyly: 

“ Yes, with all my heart! ” 

That night there was a heavy rain, and 
when Earth lifted the tent-flap the next 
morning she saw a strange sight. 

She stood in a vegetable garden ! Beets, 
cabbages, pumpkins and tobacco plants 
had grown in all directions. But over 
the fields for miles around stood slen- 
der stalks waving golden silken tassels. 
Earth’s glorious Indian husband had thrown 
down his head-dress the evening before as 
he entered the tent, the feathers had flown 
far, and wherever one rested had sprung up 
a stalk of corn, Fair Earth’s best gift to all 
her Indian children. 



44 Chatter, chatter!” rustle the leaves of the 
Aspen Tree without ceasing* They were once 
the tongue of an Indian maiden. Listen to her 
story ! 


XIII 


The Chattering Aspen 

L ISTEN, do you hear the rustle, rustle 
of the leaves of that tree over our 
heads? 

They are never still, they whisper and 
chatter all the time, even when there is not 
wind enough to stir a leaf on one of the 
other trees. The Indians told a story about 
the first aspen tree and I found it in this 
book. Come and sit nearer and I will tell it 
to you. 

Years and years ago there was a lake, 
somewhere , called Spirit Lake, where the sun 
always shone and the winds were always 
soft. Indian Spirits lived there, and they 
were very wonderful to look upon. They 
gleamed as though the never-failing sun- 
shine of their lake glowed within them, they 
wore golden tunics and mantles and the 
*43 


144 “Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

feathers in their head-bands and on their 
arrows were tipped with gleaming gold. 

But, although they were all so splendid 
and radiant, one of them, Wahontas, longed 
for a human bride. To find the most per- 
fect maiden he took the form of a young 
warrior, and, leaving Spirit Lake, he wan- 
dered through many Indian camps. 

In one tent he found two lovely sisters, 
Mistosis and Omemee. Mistosis was as 
dark as midnight and her eyes were gleam- 
ing stars. Omemee was as fair as the sun- 
shine with hair like golden corn. Wahontas 
knew that he wanted one of them, but 
which? They were equally beautiful, but 
which was the cleverer and the sweeter? 

The old Chief, their father, had welcomed 
Wahontas gladly, and when the young war- 
rior asked him for the hand of his daughter 
the Chief answered : 

“ Bring me the head of the Forest King 
and my daughter shall be yours.” 

Wahontas did not know which daughter 
he wished, he couldn't make up his mind, 
and he was equally puzzled by the Chief’s 


The Chattering Aspen 


145 


answer. What did he mean by the head of 
the Forest King? The Indians have no 
kings ! 

While he pondered these questions he 
joined the young braves of the tribe who 
were just starting off upon a hunting trip. 
They shot buffalos, killed a black bear, and 
then plunged deeper into the forest in 
search of a marvellous moose about whom 
stories filled the camps. He was known to 
be the most gigantic creature ever seen, his 
horns were like the branches of a great oak 
tree, and yet he was so fleet that he had 
escaped all hunters. 

“ He is the King of the Forest,” the braves 
told Wahontas. “ Every brave in the tribe 
is eager to slay him, for the Chief has of- 
fered the hand of one of his daughters as a 
reward.” 

Then Wahontas understood the Chiefs 
words to him, and with the band he walked 
stealthily through the forest in search of the 
great creature. One morning at daybreak 
they saw him standing beside a lake where 
he had come to drink ! Like a king among 


146 " Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

animals he looked as he stood there, his 
huge brown body large enough to uphold 
the gigantic antlers which stretched far out 
upon either side of his head. For a moment 
he stood erect, listening, then with his quiv- 
ering nostrils he scented the Indians, and as 
lightly as a young fawn he sprang back and 
crashing through the bushes disappeared 
into the forest. 

All day and for days and weeks the In- 
dians followed him. At last one evening, 
weary and discouraged, they gazed between 
the trees where the mists of twilight made 
deep shadows, and there, — far beyond the 
distance that any arrow could fly — stood 
the king moose! Safe and quiet he stood, 
his gigantic antlers touching the trees upon 
either side. 

Suddenly an arrow whizzed through the 
air, an arrow winged with golden feathers. 
On and on it flew, through the gray shadows, 
between the trees — into the heart of the 
great animal. With a crash he fell to the 
ground, dead ! 

“ It is the golden feathered arrow of the 


The Chattering Aspen 147 

stranger !” cried the Indians. “ Never did 
arrow fly thus before ! ” 

Upon the ground before the old Chiefs 
tent lay the head of the moose. 

“ The King of the Forest indeed !” mur- 
mured the Chief. “ You have won my 
daughter; take her when you will ! ” 

But, alas, Wahontas was as puzzled as 
ever about his choice! Then a plan came 
to him. 

He disguised himself as an old and beg- 
garly Indian. Over his golden tunic he 
threw a ragged cloak, and upon his feet he 
placed worn moccasins, full of holes. Then 
he came to the tent where, as a young war- 
rior, the sisters had often welcomed him. 

He lifted the tent flap and stepped inside. 
A torrent of abuse greeted him. 

“ Out you go ! There is no room for you 
here ! ” shouted Mistosis. “ Hurry, hurry, 
we have no time for strange beggars ! ” 

“ But I am aged, weary and hungry,” 
murmured Wahontas. 

“ Aged ! ” scolded Mistosis. 


“ There 


148 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

should be no aged people in the world; they 
should all be put to death ! ” On and on 
went her tongue, scolding, scorning, gibing 
at the poor beggar. 

Then Omemee stepped forward. She said 
no word, but she led the old man to a seat 
upon a soft deerskin. Quickly she lighted 
a fire and upon it she cooked the best veni- 
son and broth in the tent. As he ate she 
looked pityingly at his torn shoes and, going 
to a corner, brought out her most beautiful 
moccasins, beaded with blue and gold. She 
put them upon his feet, smiling sweetly at 
him as she did so, while all the time the 
tongue of Mistosis went on with its cruel 
scolding. 

In broken words Wahontas thanked 
Omemee, and tottering to the flap of the 
tent, he lifted it painfully. Then in the 
golden light of the entrance he paused and 
turning drew himself up to his full height. 
From his shoulders he tore the ragged 
cloak, from his head he pulled the long 
white hair which had covered his raven 
locks. 


149 


The Chattering Aspen 

u I came to you as an old man, weary, 
hungry and forlorn,” he said. “ I come 
again, not as a beggar, but as a lover. At 
last I have made my choice; only one of 
you is beautiful within. 

“ No man shall be forced to bear the 
ceaseless cruelty of Mistosis’ tongue again; 
she shall become the aspen tree, whose 
leaves are never silent.” 

As he spoke Mistosis, amazed and furious, 
became rooted to the spot. Her arms 
changed to branches, her tongue to many 
chattering leaves! 

Wahontas turned to Omemee and opened 
his arms. “ Come, my bride, my little 
dove,” he cried. “ Come with me to the 
golden Spirit Lake, where no cloud of sor- 
row or pain shall ever dim thy sweet life ! ” 

For a moment Omemee rested in his arms, 
then in the form of two doves they flew 
over the forests to the Golden Lake, where 
they dwelt blissfully for years and years. 
Perhaps they are there to-day, while in our 
forests and along our roadsides the leaves of 
the aspen tree still chatter without ceasing! 



44 Sell me a dream about something delicious,” 
begged the fox* 

"How about — Chickens?” asked the squirrel* 
The fox danced upon his hind legs at the 
thought* 


xrv 

The Merchant of Dreams 


H E sat in a hole in a big tree, the 
Merchant of Dreams, peeking out 
curiously to see who would come 
next to buy from him. Every now and then 
he turned and ran his paw along the shelves 
where the dreams were kept, each in a 
basket of sweet hay. 

How he had worked, gathering those 
dreams ! 

Of course, you know who he was? He 
was the sweetest old squirrel who ever lived, 
the best friend of all the animals in the 
forest. 

Every morning at sunrise while the fields 
still sparkled with dew you could have seen 
him running across them. That is the time 
to gather dreams, but very few people know 
a dream when they see it. It looks, to 
most of us, like a simple wild flower or an 
egg-shell out of which the bird has hatched, 

151 


152 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

or an acorn or scarlet berry. But the Mer- 
chant always knew at a glance which was 
the real dream. He knew the bad dreams 
too, the nightmares, which look like ugly 
toadstools or purplish berries. He never 
gathered those; it is only the bad goblins 
who pick them and scatter them around the 
world to make mischief. 

This nice old squirrel handled his dreams 
as tenderly as though they were birds just 
out of the shell. He carried his tiny sweet- 
hay baskets in a bag which he dragged after 
him, and as soon as the precious dreams 
were packed carefully in their baskets, the 
lids were closed and the bag was full, he 
scampered — only he was so plump he 
couldn't scamper any faster than you can 
walk — home to his tree. 

There he placed the dreams on his 
shelves, each one under its own letter, like 
a nice dictionary. 

" Dream of eating apples f good for boys or 
donkeys," he said, taking a dream out of the 
bag. 

Then he put on his spectacles and looked 


The Merchant of Dreams 153 

closely along his shelves. “Ah here, A ! ” 
he exclaimed, slipping the dream in among 
the others. 

“ Dream of marbles — playing games with 
them and winning from all the boys,” he 
went on, looking at a round acorn. “ That 
will do nicely for some old gentleman. 
Dream of dolls that walk and speak. — Ah, 
that is a nice one now. Will do for any 
little girl.” 

He tucked it away under D, beside Danc- 
ing in the moonlight , good for a fairy, and 
Doing nothing , good for a weary worker or 
a busy bee. 

Then the little squirrel curled up and 
went to sleep so as to be very spry at twi- 
light when his customers came. 

The sun had just set when this story be- 
gins and the Merchant was peeking out of 
his hole, you remember, watching. 

Suddenly there was a rustle among the 
leaves and a sharp nose and two bright eyes 
appeared at one side of the tree. 

“All quiet?” asked a young fox. “No 
men with guns about? ” 


154 “Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

“ No indeed, come right in. You are 
early and won’t meet any one,” answered 
the squirrel. 

The fox jumped in through another hole 
at the foot of the tree, made for visitors 
who couldn’t climb. 

“ My poor old mother caught her foot in 
a trap last evening and tore it so badly 
getting away that she didn’t sleep all night,” 
he said. “ She wants the best dream you 
have to put her to sleep.” 

“All right, let’s see,” chattered the squir- 
rel, putting on his spectacles again and run- 
ning his paw along the shelves. 

“ Dreams under S, — Shooting , Stuffing , — 
oh, my dear young sir, where have you 
gone? ” 

The fox had sprung out of the tree 
and was running away as fast as he 
could. 

“ Come back, come back ! ” cried the 
squirrel. “ Of course you don’t care for 
such dreams; how stupid of me! ” 

The young fox turned and looked at him 
warily. “ I should call those nightmares ! ” 


The Merchant of Dreams 155 

he said. “ If you can’t do better than 
that ” 

“Yes, yes,” cried the Merchant. “See, 
here is a fine one, C, — Chickens . — Doesn’t 
that sound better? ” 

The fox came running back, licking his 
lips with his red tongue. 

“What are the chickens doing?” he 
called excitedly. 

“ They are, — let me see, — they are play- 
ing Follow the Leader, and the fox is the 
leader. He leads them right into his hole 
and then gobbles them all up! Here it is 
in a nice basket. Your mother will be all 
well to-morrow if she puts this under her 
pillow and sleeps on it all night.” 

The fox stood upon his hind legs to take 
the basket in his mouth, wagged his tail 
with delight and was off in a flash. 

Just before he was quite out of sight he 
stopped, put the basket down upon the 
ground and called back: 

“ If there is enough of the dream left for 
me to have it to-morrow night I will pay 
double ! ” 


156 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before 99 

Then he was off, chuckling to himself at 
the thought of that wonderful dream. 

The next visitor was a mother bunny. 
She looked around shyly and gave one jump 
from the bush she was hiding under to the 
hole in the tree. There she stood, trembling 
with fear. 

“ Will any one catch me here? ” she cried. 
“ You have such strange horrible customers. 
A boy or a dog might come at any 
time ! ” 

“ Never fear,” answered the squirrel. “ I 
can hear them a long way off and you could 
run out of my back door. What can I do 
for you? This is the first visit you have 
paid me and I want to please you.” 

“ It is for Peter, my baby bunny,” panted 
the mother. “ He fell into a snake hole to- 
day and got a good squeeze from the big, 
black snake before I saved him. His nerves 
are quite shattered and he needs a pleasant, 
quiet dream to make him forget that hor- 
rible creature.” 

“Yes, indeed; now let me think a mo- 
ment,” answered the squirrel. “ Here is C — 


The Merchant of Dreams 157 

Cats” he began, but the little bunny 
trembled so that the tree shook, it truly did. 

“ No, no,” went on the Merchant. “ C — 
for Carrots, of course; that is what I was 
looking for. Golden, juicy carrots growing 
in a garden where there are no dogs or cats 
or even a gardener. A bunny sits there in 
the dream and eats and eats. He never gets 
too many or has a colly-wobble either. Now 
isn't that nice? ” 

“ Oh, that is perfect!” cried the bunny, 
wagging her ears with joy. “ That is just 
what my Peter needs, a beautiful, satisfying 
dream. Many thanks, Mister Merchant, and 
how do I pay you? ” 

“ Don't you know?” answered the dear, 
old squirrel. “ Why, all the animals and 
fairies and children know. Just ask one of 
them, they will tell you.” 

Off scampered the happy bunny, and the 
next visitor was a cousin of the Merchant's, 
a gay young squirrel with a splendid tail of 
which he was very proud. 

“ Hello, Cousin Samuel,” he cried. “ Do 
give me a good, long dream for Uncle Will- 


158 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before 99 

iam. He worries so about the loss of his 
teeth that I have to play acorn marbles with 
him by the hour to keep him amused. I 
haven’t had time to give my tail any atten- 
tion for a week. Send him a dream now 
that will keep him quiet so that I can give 
my tail a pine oil shampoo and make a few 
calls.” 

He waved his tail as he spoke and it 
seemed to be in fine condition, but he was 
a dreadful little dude. 

“ Poor Uncle William,” sighed the Mer- 
chant, turning to his shelves. “ T — Teeth - 
pulling, dream for a dentist.” 

“ I say now, that is pretty rough. I 
wouldn’t give that to a wood-chuck ! ” ex- 
claimed the young cousin. 

“T — Tails — dream for squirrel or book- 
worm,” went on the Merchant. “ No, I had 
better go backward. Q , — Questions answered , 
dream for any boy. P , — Plum Pudding , 
dream for Christmas holidays. N, — now 
this is just the thing, Nuts , — dream of crack- 
ing and munching baskets full. What could 
be better than that? ” 


The Merchant of Dreams 159 

The dandy fanned the air with his tail to 
show his pleasure and taking the dream be- 
tween his teeth he chased off. 

Then darkness fell, a few stars began to 
peep and the Merchant curled up for a little 
doze. 

“ Too late for more customers to-night/* 
he said. 

But he was wakened twice. Once by a 
gay little fairy who wanted a dream for the 
Fairy Queen. 

“ A toadstool, under which she was taking 
shelter in that thunder-storm yesterday, fell 
upon her wing and tore it. She has it band- 
aged with cobwebs and dew, but she can*t 
fly and I want the prettiest dream you have 
to amuse her.** 

“ Here is the happiest dream for a fairy 
that I have ever found,** said the squirrel. 
“ I gathered it from the heart of a rose. 
It is a dream that all the children in the 
world can see fairies, can laugh and sing 
and dance with them ! ’* 

“ A perfect dream ! *’ cried the elf, flutter- 
ing his wings until they shone like rainbows. 


i6o “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

He threw the Merchant a kiss and was off. 

The next time the squirrel was wakened 
he rubbed his eyes with surprise. He put on 
his spectacles and was still more astonished. 
The hole inside the foot of his tree was as 
bright as day. It looked as though hun- 
dreds of stars were shining there ! 

Then the Merchant chuckled with amuse- 
ment. 44 Oh, you fireflies ! ” he cried. 44 How 
you did startle me! You look like bright 
stars in here. Now what can I do for you ? ” 

“ Oh, give us a good drea.m, one big 
enough for us all ! ” they cried, flashing their 
tiny lights excitedly. 44 You see the moon is 
shining to-night and of course those con- 
ceited stars are out too, and no one looks 
at us. We hear people say 4 What a heav- 
enly night ! What a moon ! What stars ! ’ 
We are so lonely and sad, we want a dream 
to comfort us and make us feel that every- 
body loves us.” 

44 1 have just the dream for you then ! ” 
cried the Merchant, rubbing his small paws 
together. 44 Look here ! ” 

He lifted a basket from the shelf marked 


The Merchant of Dreams 161 

S, — “ Here is a bit of star dust Be careful 
of it, it will give you the dream of your lives. 
Why don't you settle right down here upon 
the ferns around my tree, shut up your 
lights, put the star dust under the ferns, and 
dream? ” 

“ Yes, yes, we will! ” cried the fireflies. 

In a flash they were all asleep and dream- 
ing — oh, dreaming that they flew right up 
to the sky and the stars cried, “ Where did 
all these bright stars come from? They 
make us look dim ! ” Then the stars hid 
themselves behind the clouds because they 
were so ashamed and the fireflies shone in 
their places! 

They could hear the people on the earth 
cry: 

“ What magnificent stars ! Did you ever 
see them shine so brightly?” 

Then when all the world was watching, 
the fireflies flew right down to the earth and 
the fairies and children cried : 

“Ah, look! The stars are falling in a 
golden shower ! ” 

It was a perfect dream! The fireflies 


162 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before” 

loved it so much they wouldn’t wake up, 
they just slept upon the ferns and dreamed 
it all night ! 

The Merchant of Dreams smiled down 
upon them as he climbed out of the tree 
and jumped across the ferns. He had a 
basket hanging on one paw in which was the 
best dream he had ever found. When he 
picked it up that morning it looked like a 
bluebird’s feather, but he knew how precious 
it was and had kept it wrapped in pansy 
leaves all day. Now that he was sure that 
no more customers would come he was 
carrying it to his dearest friend. 

Through the forest he ran, and across the 
fields to a cottage covered with roses. He 
ran up the vines and right into a room 
where a little girl lay fast asleep in the 
moonlight. The squirrel took the dream 
lovingly out of the basket and tucked it 
under her pillow. He waited until he saw 
the child smile in her sleep. Then he knew 
that she had the dream and he scampered 
back to his hole to get a few winks of sleep 
before the sun rose. 


The Merchant of Dreams 163 

What was that dream about? 

I asked the little girl and this is what she 
said: 

“ I dreamed I was walking across a field, 
and no flowers grew there or birds sang 
when I started. But every time I put my 
foot down whole bunches of flowers jumped 
up, and every time I laughed birds sang 
around me and fairies danced upon the 
flowers ! It was a wonderful dream ! ” 

“ How do you and all the others pay the 
Merchant for his dreams ?” I asked her. 
“ Do you give him gold? ” 

The little girl laughed. 

“ What would he do with gold?” she 
asked. “ Why, for dreams of course, we 
give him the best thing in the world. 
Didn’t you know that every animal and child 
and fairy loves the Merchant of Dreams? ” 
I still don’t quite understand what she 
meant but I hope you do. 



44 You arc half a fairy, you belong to us!” 
cried the elves to Fancy, as she danced into 
Grandfather's Garden* 



XV 


Fairy Fancy 

O NCE, in the country you love the 
best, there lived a little girl named 
Fancy, who was half a fairy. She 
had golden curls and sweet blue eyes like 
many other children, but there was a danc- 
ing light in her eyes and a shine in her curls 
which came straight from Fairyland. 

The fairies were always trying to get her 
back. They sent elf messengers to whisper 
in her ear while she slept. 

“ You belong in Fairyland/’ they said. 
“ Come back with us! The Fairy Queen 
and all the elves are waiting for you to open 
the ball. The glow-worms have lighted 
their lamps, the crickets are tuning their 
violins, the evening primroses are opening 
their fragrant petals. All are ready and 
waiting. Will you come? ” 

In her sleep Fancy smiled and murmured : 
165 


1 66 “Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

“ My mother could never find me. Even 
Fairyland would be dull without her. Tell 
the fairies to come here instead, and play 
with me in Grandfather’s garden.” 

Then the elf messengers and all the wait- 
ing fairies stamped their tiny feet with rage. 

“ No, we will never play with you any- 
where again unless you come to Fairyland!” 
they cried. 

Of course they did. They loved her so 
much that they couldn’t stay away. The 
moment they heard her gay laugh they 
stopped dancing and feasting and flying 
races and came straight to her. Fancy saw 
them hiding among the flowers, swinging 
on the long grass, dancing on the lily-pads 
which grew in the pool in the centre of 
Grandfather’s garden. She clapped her 
hands and skipped with glee when she saw 
them ; then they hid in her curls and 
sparkled in her eyes and put fairy music into 
her laughter and her songs ! 

One moonlight night, when Fancy was 
asleep, the fairies met beneath her window 
to plan how they could make her come to 
Fairyland. There was a fine circle of mush- 


Fairy Fancy 


167 


rooms ready for them to sit upon and they 
looked very comical as they sat there with 
their foreheads puckered and their mouths 
pouting. 

“Nothing is any fun without her!” one 
elf cried. He had put a foxglove blossom 
on for a hat; it was too big for him and 
very crooked, and his mischievous little eyes 
squinted out from under it. “ Even tickling 
the old toad, or pulling the cat’s tail is 
stupid now unless she is looking,” he said 
mournfully. 

“ Unless she comes of her own free will 
she will be sad,” said another, “ and the first 
tear she sheds will carry her right home to 
her mother.” 

“We must make her forget her mother ! ” 
they all cried. “ But how? ” 

One fairy, with rainbow wings, had been 
sitting with her head resting on her toes, 
thinking. (You can think splendidly that 
way, just try it!) Suddenly she sprang to 
her feet and danced so hard that the mush- 
room shook upon its stem. 

“ I have a thought ! ” she cried. “ Let’s 
get the Green Harper to help us! ” 


1 68 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

“Yes, yes!” they all shouted, clapping 
their hands and jumping with joy until the 
mushrooms broke, and the fairies, scream- 
ing with laughter, fell upon the soft moss 
below. 

Do you know who the Green Harper is? 
Perhaps some day you will read about him 
in a big volume of Scotch legends. It is 
enough now if we know that even the fairies 
themselves were a little afraid of him, be- 
cause once every seven years he could play 
a tune upon his harp which made every one 
who heard it forget everything and every- 
body they knew and loved. But sometimes 
the fairies needed his music to help them. 
They needed it now to charm Fancy away 
from her home. 

Late the next afternoon Fancy fell fast 
asleep under a big tree in Grandfather’s 
garden. If she had dreamed of what was 
going to happen she would never have gone 
into the garden that day ! 

Out from the flowers, where they had 
been hiding, crept the fairies. Their wings 
were folded and their green tunics and caps 
and tiny white faces made them look like 


Fairy Fancy 169 

lilies-of-the-valley. On tiptoe, with their 
fingers to their lips, they made a circle 
around Fancy. Then the two who were 
standing close together next to Fancy's 
heart stepped aside, and through the narrow 
space they left crept, — the Green Harper 
himself! 

He was the same size as the fairies, and 
the golden harp which he carried slung upon 
his back looked, through the dusk, like a 
buttercup. He placed it upon the grass be- 
side Fancy, and ran his fingers lightly across 
the strings. Oh, the enchantment of that 
music! The fairies swayed as though the 
wind were blowing over a bed of wee blos- 
soms, the flowers in the garden all opened 
wide, the humming-birds stopped humming, 
while in the pool the lilies — which had closed 
for the night — laid bare their golden 
hearts. 

Then the music changed, — the fairies 
were waiting for that change ! 

Through the garden echoed the myste- 
rious music which even the fairies were half 
afraid of, the music of forgetfulness ! 

The elves knew that if Fancy could for- 


170 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

get her mother for one moment the fairy 
part of her would fly right back to Fairy- 
land and as, in her sleep, she listened to the 
music the thought of her mother slipped 
away from her, and the fairies began to 
flutter their wings, and to dance more and 
more wildly. They could see into her 
dream, — she was flying with them away, 
away from her home, from Grandfather's 
garden, — the ripple and murmur of Fairy- 
land beat upon her ears, its golden mists 
were rising around her! 

“ She is ours, ours ! ” they cried. And 
then — 

“ Fancy, Fancy,” called her mother's 
voice. 

“ She will not hear,” whispered the fair- 
ies. “ Her mother may call forever. Fancy 
will never hear her again.” 

“ Fancy, where is my girlie?” called the 
mother, anxiously this time. 

Still no answer from the sleeping child. 
With one last sweep of his fingers across 
his harp strings the Harper stopped playing. 

“ She is yours now, she has forgotten 
forever ! ” he cried. He slung his harp 


Fairy Fancy 171 

upon his shoulder and disappeared into 
a rose, one of the garden’s doors to Fairy- 
land. 

Fancy felt herself slipping, slipping, 

“ Fancy, my precious,” called her mother. 

Through the darkness no one could have 
seen the sleeping child under the tree, no 
one except the flowers and the fairies. They 
knew that the mother was looking, looking 
through the garden and that her eyes were 
full of tears. They heard the tears in the 
voice which called again : 

“ Where are you, darling? ” 

At that sound Fancy stirred. She opened 
her eyes and sat up, while the fairies sprang 
back, snapping their fingers in rage and dis- 
appointment. For they knew now that 
there was magic stronger even than that of 
the Green Harper, — the magic of a mother’s 
voice ! 

“ Here I am, Mother!” cried Fancy, all 
the fairy in her forgotten as she ran across 
the garden to her mother’s arms. 

But the fairies did not forget. For twice 
seven years they waited and schemed. It 
took all that time for the Green Harper to 


172 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

learn the music which would bring Fancy 
back to Fairyland, the music which could 
not fail. 

He listened to all the night sounds and 
played them upon his harp. They were the 
sounds which waken fireflies and night- 
blooming flowers and twinkling stars but 
which put all the children of the world to 
sleep. 

Then when Fancy was three times seven 
years old, and had a little Fancy of her own 
who was just learning to walk, the Green 
Harper came back with his magic music. 

He crept into Grandfather’s garden, 
which looked just the same as it did all those 
years ago when the Harper first played 
there. Again the shadows of the late after- 
noon were falling across the flower beds, the 
lilies in the pool were closing, the humming- 
birds gathering honey from the tall fox- 
gloves around it. Fancy sat upon a bench 
by the pool, knitting. She was lovelier and 
more fairy-like than ever, and her fingers 
flashed so fast that you knew there was 
magic in them. 

Around the whole garden the Green 


Fairy Fancy 


173 


Harper made a circle, an enchanted circle. 
All within that must obey his music. Then, 
unseen by Fancy, he placed his harp upon 
the grass beside her and began to play. It 
was drowsy, nodding, dreamy music — the 
music of sleep itself. The sun had not set 
but at that sound the birds in the garden put 
their heads under their wings and slept; the 
humming-birds were so drowsy that they 
fell right down into the blossoms they were 
sucking honey from and spent all the next 
day bathing in the pool to wash off the 
honey which stuck to their feathers! The 
hop-toads stopped in the middle of a hop, — 
asleep, with their front legs up for a jump ; 
the flowers nodded and closed, even blos- 
soms like pansies which had never closed 
before. A chipmunk, running across the 
garden, stopped, with a seed pod lifted to 
his mouth, asleep. So deep was the sleep of 
everything in the garden that it looked as 
though the garden were carved out of stone. 

Fancy had dropped her knitting upon the 
grass, and leaning against the old rose-cov- 
ered bench was as sound asleep as every- 
thing else. 


174 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before* 

Darker and darker grew the garden, fairy 
shadows were creeping across it, fairy mists 
hid it like a high wall. No other human 
being must see the deed that was now to 
be done. The Green Harper’s music 
which had called the mists and shadows, 
became crackling, leaping, terrible. Flashes, 
as of lightning, filled the garden, they 
sprang hither and thither, they took form, 
they were the cruel, dangerous Flame Gob- 
lins, slaves to the power of the music, sum- 
moned to carry away the fairy spirit of 
Fancy to her fairy dwelling! 

She slept, as the goblins danced nearer 
and nearer and the Harper’s music became 
more and more terrible. 

“ If she fail me now she will be burnt to 
cinders,” he muttered. 

But what was that sound which rose 
above the music, above the crackling of the 
goblins? 

Ah, but the Harper had forgotten to draw 
baby Fancy within that magic circle! She 
was hunting for her mother and even the 
mists and shadows and Flame Goblins could 
not keep her away. 


175 


Fairy Fancy 

“Mama! Mama!” she cried, toddling 
through the mist, across the garden, to her 
sleeping mother. 

Fancy slept on; the enchantment held her 
and she could hear nothing but the magic 
music. 

One of the blazing goblins pushed the 
child away rudely. She gave a wail and 
through the mother’s dreams it reached her. 
She opened her eyes and clasped the baby 
to her! 

“Look! Beware!” cried the Green 
Harper. “ My power is stronger than yours. 
Leave the child here and come with me to 
Fairyland and all will be well. Take one 
step with your baby and these dancing 
flames will burn her, the garden and you, to 
cinders! ” 

Nearer and nearer flashed the flames. 
Hot and threatening they touched Fancy 
with their flaming tongues. And Fancy, — 
laughed ! 

“ Die down ! ” she cried to the flames. 
“ Didn’t you know that the magic of a 
mother and a fairy together is stronger than 
any power in the world, Green Harper? 


176 " Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

Play for me now, play for my baby, and 
call the little dancing fairies. I have some- 
thing to say to them ! ” 

The flames crouched at her feet and, in 
spite of himself, the Green Harper found 
himself playing the sweetest, gayest music 
you can think of. The mist rose, the 
shadows crept away, and there in the light 
of the rising moon hundreds of tiny fairies 
skipped across the flowers toward Fancy 
and the laughing baby. 

“ Little elves, you who have been my 
friends since I was a child, I am ashamed 
of you ! ” she said. 

The fairies hung their heads. 

“We wanted you in Fairyland,” they 
pleaded. “We couldn’t think of any other 
way.” 

“ You have been cruel to my baby,” went 
on Fancy, “ and you must be punished.” 

“Yes, yes,” cried the elves, “we will do 
anything you say, only don’t make us sad 
for long; the garden would forget to bloom 
without us and your curls would lose their 
gold.” 


177 


Fairy Fancy 

Fancy laughed. “ This is your punish- 
ment, ” she answered. “ There are many 
gardens full of children where a fairy has 
never been seen. You must dance and sing 
to the children in every garden, and your 
Green Harper must wander through the 
world until he learns the music of remem- 
brance. He must play wherever he is 
needed most, and never, never again, must 
your Flame Goblins blaze except to warm 
and cheer!” 

“We promise, we promise!” cried the 
fairies dancing among the flowers while the 
Green Harper played music so gay that 
even the Flame Goblins chuckled as they 
stole away to the wood-pile. 

“We will make this garden a part of 
Fairyland,” sang the fairies, “ so that Fancy 
will be in Fairyland after all! ” 

And that is the reason that in the country 
you love the best you will find Grandfather’s 
garden, and all the other gardens, full of 
dancing fairies. 

Let us go there right off and look for 
them ! 



Every time the little angels had an unkind 
thought a feather from their wings flew back to 
Paradise. They soon grew so proud and selfish 
that their feathers flew away like a flock of 
birds. 


XVI 


How Five Little Angels Lost 
Their Wings 

F IVE little angels perched upon the 
golden bar of Paradise peering down 
curiously at the world below. 

“ See it shine in the sunshine, like a ball 
of fire ! ” cried one. 

“ See it dance around, like this ” ex- 

claimed another, springing off the bar and 
flying around in a circle. 

“ Look at the gay colours, like broken bits 
of rainbow ! ” cried the third. “ They must 
be the earth-flowers. I like them better than 
the flowers of Paradise, all gold and silver! ” 
“Do you see those tiny white spots?” 
asked the fourth. “St. Jeanne D’Arc told 
me those were flocks of sheep. They are so 
gay and sweet, she says. She took care of 
them when she was a shepherdess upon the 
earth.” 


179 


180 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

“ Listen, listen ! ” cried the fifth. “ That 
is a sound we never hear in Paradise ! What 
is it?” 

They all listened, their bright angel faces 
growing puzzled and troubled. 

It was the sound of a child crying. 

“ Oh, let us fly right down to him and 
comfort him ! ” cried one. 

“ Yes, let us tell him that Heaven is near 
and angels are guarding him and let us take 
him a little star for a present!” suggested 
another. 

“ We have no feet, we could not walk 
upon the earth and he might not know how 
to play with us,” objected the third. 

“ Look ! ” cried the fourth. “ It is grow- 
ing dark upon the earth, there are clouds 
around it hiding the stars. There must be 
many children who are afraid or lonely, for 
listen, now ! ” 

The sobs and whimpers of many children 
rose to their ears. Perhaps the happy chil- 
dren were all asleep for there was no sound 
of laughter or singing. 

“ Come, come ! ” cried the fifth little angel. 


Five Little Angels Lost Their Wings 181 

“ Let us fly to Gabriel, the guardian of the 
angels* nursery. He loves all small things, 
babies and angels, and he will give us feet 
so that we can run upon the earth and play 
with the lonely children.” 

Gabriel was bending over a great bed of 
silver lilies when the five little angels came 
flying toward him. They were all talking 
at once. 

“ Please, dear Gabriel, we want to fly 
down to earth ! ” 

“ Oh, give us some little legs and feet 
that we may play in the meadows with the 
earth children who are crying! ” 

“We want to tell the lonely children that 
heaven is close to them always ! ” 

“ Ah, Gabriel, listen to the weeping 
children and send us right down to them 
that we may make them smile.” 

The little angels fluttered about the big 
beautiful one, who stood straight and 
shining as a great lily himself, his wings 
folded like closed petals. 

“ Little angels, listen/* he said and his 
voice was music. “ It is a long, dangerous 


182 “Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before 

journey which you wish to take. It is hard 
to live on the earth and remain an angel. 
Every time you are cross or selfish a feather 
from your wings will fly back to Paradise. 
If you lose them all you will never be able 
to return. The children below need you, 
but those who need you the most do not 
live in green fields and tend the sheep, they 
live in ugly cities, in houses where the sun 
seldom finds his way. Can you keep your 
golden smiles and your angel wings 
there? ” 

“Yes, yes, dear Gabriel! listen to these 
sad sounds, and help us to hurry away ! ” 

Out of the golden box where gifts for 
new-born babies are kept Gabriel took five 
pairs of small legs and feet. The toes were 
all pink and dimpled and the five angels were 
filled with delight. They put them on and 
danced about, clapping their hands and flut- 
tering their wings. 

“ All the children upon the earth will be 
dancing like this before we come home!” 
they cried. “ Now, dear Gabriel, are we 
ready? ” 


Five Little Angels Lost Their Wings 183 

Gabriel stooped over and kissed each one 
upon his forehead. 

“ Keep the blue of the skies in your eyes, 
the light of Heaven in your smiles and love 
in your hearts ! ” he said. 

“ Farewell, farewell ! ” they cried. “ Here 
is a shining cloud to carry us down. Watch 
us and listen; you will hear no sounds of 
tears to-morrow night ! ” 

But alas! The little angels were so ex- 
cited over their journey and the strange 
sights of the world that they kept putting 
off the work they had come to do. 

Reaching the earth just as the sun rose 
they fell into a meadow full of daisies 
and buttercups. Of course they had to try 
their new feet, dancing over the flowers; 
they had to answer the calls of the birds, 
and gaze at their own reflections in the 
pool. By that time they were tired — a feel- 
ing they had never known in Paradise — and 
they lay down in the long grass to sleep. 
When they woke the moon was shining and 
the only sound they heard was “ Kerchonk! 
Kerchonk!” from the gay young frogs. 


184 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before M 

Laughing with merriment they ran to the 
stream and waded down it, splashing their 
pink toes in the silver water and imitating 
the frogs. 

So the days went by. Their wings were 
invisible to the people of the world and 
passers-by thought them merely beautiful 
children, the most beautiful they had ever 
seen. For a time the angels were not 
hungry for our kind of food and when they 
were they walked boldly up to a palace and 
asked for part of the feast that was going 
on. 

" What princely children ! ” exclaimed the 
guests. “Your family, of course ?” they 
asked the old King. 

Now the old King had had very ugly, dis- 
agreeable children who had grown up and 
had equally hideous and cross children of 
their own. He was delighted with the 
looks of the little angels in the starry 
clothes and was glad to receive them as part 
of the royal family. They were given all 
the sweets they could eat, crowns were 
placed upon their heads, and at first they 


Five Little Angels Lost Their Wings 185 

had a splendid time. Then they were put 
in charge of teachers who tried to make 
them study out of dull books. 

“We know more than any books; have 
we not come from Paradise ?” they asked 
each other. They tore up the books and 
stamped upon them and, all unnoticed by 
them, a few feathers flew back to Heaven. 

Then their star robes grew dingy and the 
old King, who spoiled them and let them 
have whatever they wished, ordered the 
finest clothes in the kingdom made for 
them. 

Proudly the angels strutted around in 
purple and gold, eating the richest food, 
playing all the time, and never contented. 
Every day feathers drifted back to Gabrieli 
garden, but the angels did not mind. 

“ Wings are of no use to us here,” they 
said. “ We can have whatever we want and 
when we wish to return to Paradise we 
will.” 

They had forgotten the lonely children 
they came to play with, the frightened, sick 
children they had longed to comfort. 


1 86 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

One day, discontented with everything, 
they were playing in the royal garden at 
sunset. 

“ These roses have thorns on them ! ” 
cried one angel pulling an enormous crim- 
son rose to bits. 

“ Those lilies don’t stand straight ! ” 
scolded another, tearing down a splendid 
white lily. 

“ This butterfly won’t stay still long 
enough to let me catch him ! ” complained 
the third. 

“ Look at this one, it is far bigger and I 
will catch it! ” cried the fourth. He chased 
the gorgeous black and orange butterfly 
over the garden, trampling down whole beds 
of fragrant flowers as he ran. 

“Ah see, I have it ! ” he cried. “ It shall 
follow me wherever I go ! ” 

He opened his clenched hand in which 
he had crushed the poor butterfly. Its 
wings were broken and its colour rubbed. 
It crawled painfully over the angel’s hand, 
and the child began to cry. They were the 
first tears an angel had ever shed and the 


Five Little Angels Lost Their Wings 187 

others looked bewildered and frightened. 
Suddenly they remembered when they had 
heard a child cry before. It was in Para- 
dise when, leaning over the golden bar, 
they had heard the lonely earth children 
and had longed to comfort them. 

“ We had wings once too,” cried an angel. 
“ We have lost them, like this butterfly, and 
we are not of any use either! ” 

The littlest angel began to cry also. 

“ I want to fly back to Paradise ! ” he 
sobbed. “We are all too little to be left 
here alone ! ” 

In a bed of lilies they all gathered, water- 
ing the crushed flowers with their tears. 
They were lonely and ashamed. “ What 
must Gabriel think of us now?” they 
wailed. 

Then the fifth angel sprang up. 

“ Tears don’t help a bit ! ” he cried. “ We 
are still angels and there are many children 
who need us. We cannot go back to Para- 
dise but , — listen to me — we can make the 
world so like Heaven that we won’t be lonely 
here any more ! ” 


1 88 44 Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

44 Let us start right off! ” cried the other 
angels struggling to their feet. 

“ Brave little angels ! What will they do 
next?” asked Gabriel looking down upon 
them and smiling. 

Out through the garden gates in the 
moonlight the five ran, and as they thought 
again their angel thoughts tiny wings began 
to sprout from their shoulders. No one saw 
the wings, at least no grown up person did. 
But perhaps you have seen them. I am 
sure you have heard them fluttering near 
you ! 

For from that moment the angels lived 
with the children of the earth. They sought 
them far and near. Whenever a child is 
ill, wherever a child is lonely or sorrowful, 
one of the five little angels is by his side in 
a flash, bringing smiles and laughter to his 
eyes instead of tears. We hear their angel 
voices in the songs of the happy children, 
we see the five little angels in eyes that 
dream, in smiles of love and of courage 
everywhere. 

Their wings are quite grown out now, 


Five Little Angels Lost Their Wings 189 

they could fly back to Paradise if they 
wished, but they are so blissful in bringing 
Heaven to the children of the earth that 
they never think of leaving. 

“ Dear little angels,” said Gabriel watch- 
ing and listening. “ May the blessing of 
Heaven be with you day and night! ” 




In the figure-head of the Prince's ship the 
Willow Maiden still lives* She is leading him 
onward — to victory ! 


XVII 

The Willow Maiden 


I N the far-away land of China there was 
a lad who was so brave and gay and 
handsome that his friends called him 
“ The Prince.” 

“A fine Prince I am,” he would cry laugh- 
ing, holding out his ragged cloak as though 
it were wings. “ No one can guess what 
colour this once was, and it will let either the 
rain or the sun come through its holes. It 
is just the garment for a prince! ” 

His friends laughed with him, but they 
whispered among themselves: 

“ Never mind, his Celestial Majesty the 
Emperor has not a bearing as noble and 
courteous as our Riki ! ” 

Riki means Strength, in Chinese, and this 
lad was as strong as he was gentle and 
generous. 

One evening Riki was some distance from 
191 


192 " Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

his village when he was overtaken by a 
terrible storm. He looked around to see 
where he could find shelter and upon a hill- 
side near saw three willow trees. He had 
almost reached them when a streak of light- 
ning flashed so brightly that he closed his 
eyes for a moment, and when he opened 
them the willow trees had gone! In their 
place stood a tiny cottage through whose 
open door the light streamed cheerfully. 

“ Welcome, most honoured Sir,” cried a 
voice, “ Enter speedily that we may close 
the door.” 

Riki hurried in and found an old man and 
woman bowing to him with as much cere- 
mony as though he had been a nobleman. 

They took his wet cloak and wrapped him 
in a green robe of soft material. Then the 
woman called : 

“ Ayagi, where are you, child? The hon- 
oured Sir waits.” 

From behind a screen at the end of the 
cottage there was a rustling sound like the 
whispering of leaves in a forest. 

Then a maiden stepped out, and at every 


The Willow Maiden 


193 


step she took her garments made a rus- 
tling, or was it the waving of her hair, 
crowned with willow leaves? 

Riki could not take his eyes from her face. 
Never had he beheld such beauty. It made 
one think of all the loveliest, sweetest things 
in the world, bird-songs and soft winds, star- 
light and running water. 

“Come, come now, honoured Sir, what are 
you gazing at?” asked the woman crossly. 
“ Our daughter, Ayagi, is naught but a com- 
mon maid without beauty or manners. She 
is offering you hot rice wine, which will 
cheer you after your drenching. Will you 
do us the honour to taste it? ” 

Riki thanked her and drank the wine, but 
his eyes never left those of the maiden. 

The mother and daughter then disap- 
peared behind the screen, and while the 
storm raged outside Riki and the old man 
talked. But while he spoke of storms and 
rice crops Riki had but one thought. At last 
he could keep silent no longer. 

“ You have been most kind to me,” he 
said, “ and yet I must ask one more favour, 


194 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

the greatest I ever asked of any man. I beg 
you to think of me as a son-in-law and give 
me your wondrous daughter for my wife ! 99 

The peasant sprang to his feet in horror. 

“ What! ” he cried. “ You, a nobleman, 
one of royal blood, desire to wed a maiden 
of low rank and of no breeding? Speak no 
more of it, I pray you ! ” 

In vain Riki pleaded that he was not a 
nobleman, nothing but a poor peasant who 
worked hard in his own rice field. At last 
the old man grew angry, he struck his hands 
fiercely together and a peal of thunder 
echoed through the cottage. There was a 
flash of lightning which seemed to set it 
on fire for it blazed up — and vanished ! 

Riki found himself lying upon the ground. 
The storm was over, the day breaking and 
no house was to be seen, nothing but three 
willow trees waving their branches in the 
light wind. 

Riki looked at the trees curiously. Two 
were gnarled and old, the third was as grace- 
ful as the maiden, Ayagi. Riki laid his hand 
tenderly upon it and heard — did he dream? 


The Willow Maiden 


195 

— a faint rustling sigh and the words, “ My 
love.’* 

As Riki went back to work in his rice 
field he could think of nothing but the 
maiden and the tree, although what one had 
to do with the other he could not tell. 
Evening after evening he wandered to the 
spot where the slender tree stood. The 
rustling of its leaves was music in his ears, 
and one night he had an idea. 

He dug around the roots of the tree as 
carefully as though it were a tender flower, 
lifted it lovingly and planted it beside his 
own cottage! In the moonlight the leaves 
shone like silver and their rustling seemed 
full of joy. 

Every hour the next day Riki left the rice 
field to gaze lovingly at the tree. He was 
filled with excitement and with a strange 
hope, of what he could not tell. When the 
golden light of the setting sun filled the sky 
he stood before the willow, waiting, — for 
what? 

Its leaves hung quiet, there was no sound 
and then, — tear — tear — the bark opened, 


196 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

and out of the trunk stepped — Ayagi ! She 
was clad in green and silver, crowned with 
willow leaves and with a smile of dazzling 
beauty she held out her hands to Riki. 

“ I have come to you for one hour,” she 
said and again her voice was like bird songs. 
“ While your love draws me I can come 
every evening at sunset. From the roots 
and branches of the tree I draw my life; if 
aught should happen to it so that I could 
not return I should die. But this hour is 
yours. Is it not enough? ” 

“ Better one hour with you than a life- 
time with all the world!” cried Riki. 
“ Come, my beloved, tell me who you are 
and what magic enchants you within the 
tree.” 

Ayagi shook her head. “ That I cannot 
answer,” she said. “ But I can tell you 
much else, I can teach you secrets and wis- 
dom which will make you even wiser and 
nobler than you are to-day.” 

Around the garden where the tree stood 
Riki built a high wall. No one could look 
over it, but passers-by thought that they 


The Willow Maiden 


197 

heard sweet whisperings there at sun- 
set. 

The villagers, who all loved and admired 
Riki, grew to adore him. They came to him 
with all their troubles and disputes, for his 
words of wisdom were so wonderful that 
they solved every difficulty, comforted every 
sorrow. They had called him “ Prince,” in 
fun, now they called him so in earnest. 

“ Surely noble blood runs in his veins,” 
they said. “ Such wisdom and beauty as his 
have never been heard of in China before! ” 

News of his power spread to the palace 
of the Emperor. 

“ Who is this impostor who dares call 
himself a Prince?” he cried. “ Send him 
here that he may be punished! ” 

But when Riki stood before the royal 
throne the Emperor stared in surprise. 

“ Wonderful, wonderful ! ” he exclaimed 
to himself. “ He is like a young god among 
us.” 

Then to Riki, who, in his ragged cloak, 
stood bowing courteously, the Emperor 
said: 


198 44 Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

44 1 know not who you are, but I under- 
stand now why all men call you 4 Prince.* 
If you are as wise as you are splendid to 
look upon you shall be given a position close 
to my royal person.** 

At that time the Emperor was greatly 
puzzled as to whether he should make war 
upon a savage tribe of cannibals who lived 
in neighbouring islands and often sailed 
across to the mainland to rob and murder. 
No army had ever been able to conquer 
them and in the attempt thousands had been 
cut to pieces. So now, to test the wisdom 
of Riki, the Emperor asked: 

44 Shall I make war upon the cannibals 
or no?** 

44 If your majesty will allow me until to- 
morrow morning I will answer your ques- 
tion,** said Riki. 

44 1 will see you to-morrow,** agreed the 
Emperor. Then turning to his attendants 
he cried: 

44 Robe this young nobleman in garments 
suitable for a king’s son ! ** 

That night at sunset Riki stood as usual 


The Willow Maiden 199 

before the willow tree. He was robed in 
cloth of gold, his robe was of purple velvet 
and jewels shone from his sword hilt and in 
the chain around his neck. 
j As the sun sank there was the sound of 
tearing in the tree trunk and the wonderful 
maiden stood before him. When she saw 
Riki's fine clothes she laughed delightedly. 

“ So my prince is robed in garments of 
the palace ! ” she cried. “ But tell me, what 
answer will you give the Emperor to-mor- 
row ? ” 

“ So you knew what had happened before 
I told you ! ” exclaimed Riki, in surprise. 
“ With your great wisdom teach me what 
advice to give his Majesty.” 

As they walked through the fragrant 
garden Ayagi said : 

“A month from to-day will be the Feast 
of the Trees. If the Emperor makes war 
upon the cannibals upon that day he will 
win a great victory. But tell him to spend 
these weeks preparing ships and men and 
let him appoint the strongest man in the 
kingdom for the leader.” 


200 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

The Emperor was delighted with Riki*s 
advice as well as his magnificent appearance. 

“ You must make plans for the battle/* 
he cried ; “ all shall be as you say. Take up 
your abode from to-day in the palace. The 
finest suite is yours and you shall wed a 
princess of the royal blood.** 

But Riki begged to be allowed to remain 
in his cottage. 

“ There alone, in the secrecy of my own 
garden can I learn the wisdom which will 
help my Lord,*’ he said. “ As for marriage, 
I have vowed to always remain single.** 

So Riki spent his days at the palace, 
planning, advising and training soldiers. 
For although he had never fought he learnt, 
in a few nights, all the art of war both on 
land and sea. Sunset always found him in 
his garden waiting impatiently before the 
willow. 

But one evening he stood there with head 
bowed and a look of suffering upon his 
face. 

“ Shall I tell my beloved that the Em- 
peror has made me General of the whole 


The Willow Maiden 


201 


army and ordered me to sail in the foremost 
ship, leading the soldiers against the canni- 
bals ?” he pondered. “ Perchance she 
knows already, if not I will not trouble her 
for I will never leave her. Who knows what 
harm might come to her willow tree? The 
Emperor thinks that I will sail into the jaws 
of death upon the Feast of the Trees. Ah 
no! At the last moment I shall send word 
that I am ill. Never shall I forsake my own 
love — no, not to save a kingdom ! ” 

Quickly the days passed, and if Ayagi 
knew what was in Riki's mind she hid her 
thoughts and was more charming, more 
beautiful, than ever. 

The night before the Feast of the Trees 
arrived. All was in readiness for the battle 
the next day. Riki begged to be allowed to 
spend that evening in his garden ; he would 
join his ship before midnight, he said, and 
be ready to set sail at daybreak. No one 
dreamed that the now famous Prince Riki, 
Lord General of all the army of China, was 
planning to send word that he was ill and 
that the next in rank must take command ! 


202 44 Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before 99 

As the sun set that night the full moon 
rose, and into a world of perfect loveliness 
stepped the Willow Princess. Never had 
she been more enchanting; her beauty was 
radiant, her words of such sweetness that 
Riki listened and gazed with his soul in his 
eyes. 

She spoke of love and beauty which could 
never die, and then she spoke of war and 
courage and the duty of the strong to pro- 
tect the weak. 

“And now, beloved, I must say * fare- 
well/ ” she said. 

“What do you mean?” cried Riki terri- 
fied. “ You shall never leave me, and you 
cannot force me to choose bloody death in- 
stead of years of happiness with you.” 

“ Listen ! ” said the maiden. 

Through the silent garden came the 
sound, “ Chop ! chop ! ” 

44 What is it? ” cried Riki startled. 

44 Chop, chop ! Crash ! ” went the sound. 

Riki took the maiden in his arms; she was 
pale as death and trembled like a willow 
leaf. 


The Willow Maiden 


203 

“ My tree has gone,” she answered. “See, 
there it lies.” 

Upon the ground, its branches still quiv- 
ering, lay the tree. Unseen hands had 
chopped it down ! 

Riki gazed at it horrified and in his arms 
the maiden grew cold and light as air. 

“ I gave orders to have it cut,” she whis- 
pered, “ for I alone was keeping you from 
your duty. In a few moments I shall be 
nothing but a handful of willow leaves. But 
do not despair; already magic fingers are 
carving the wood of my home, my willow, 
into an image of me. Place it as a figure- 
head upon the prow of your ship, sail to 
honour and victory. Farewell, my love, — 
we shall meet again ! ” 

In his arms Riki held a few dead leaves 
which floated away upon the wind ! 

“ Upon the Feast of the Trees,” reads an 
old Chinese book, “ a remarkable victory 
was won by our navy over the fierce and 
horrible tribes of cannibals. Our men were 
led by Prince Riki and it was owing to his 


204 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

marvellous courage in the face of danger 
and certain death that the victory was won. 
He sailed fearlessly into a storm of spears 
which the enemy hurled upon him, never 
dreaming that he would not turn and fly. 
The Emperor wished to bury the hero with 
great pomp in the tombs of the Royal fam- 
ily, but the Prince’s last words as he lay dy- 
ing upon the deck of his ship were : 

“ Let my body lie beneath the stump of 
the willow tree in my garden.” 

It was placed there and, also according to 
his wish, the only monument upon the spot 
was the exquisite figure of a maiden, which 
had been the figure-head of Prince Riki’s 
ship. 

A short time afterward the shoots from 
the willow stump grew into two perfect 
trees which, the villagers said, whispered 
together every day at sunset in voices of 
rare beauty. 




"Ah — oh — om! w cried the little black imp 
balancing himself upon the bat's back. "This 


XVIII 


An Ogre and His Dragon 

O NCE upon a time there was a ter- 
rible black ogre. He lived in a 
black castle and the only spot of 
colour about the place was the ogre’s dragon 
which followed him like a pet dog. The 
dragon was fiery red with a golden mane 
and tail. When the ogre went out to walk 
the ground shook and trembled for miles 
around and you heard “ Snap ! Snap ! ” 
which was the dragon’s great tail beating 
the air. If his tail grew tired he snapped 
with his mane. It was like a thousand rub- 
ber straps snapping every second. 

As soon as the people heard that sound 
they rushed into their houses and locked the 
doors. They knew what was going to hap- 
pen ! 

Down the street the giant marched until 

he stood in the centre of the village. Then 
207 


208 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

the dragon gave a lot of “ Snaps ! ” close to- 
gether, as though to say “ Attention ! ” It 
sounded like a whole string of firecrackers 
going off one after the other. The giant 
shouted : 

“ Bring me all the cake and cream and 
jam there is in this place ! My dragon and 
I are hungry and if you don’t bring it 
quickly, I’ll jump ! ” 

Then the people threw open their doors 
and ran to the ogre as fast as they could, 
their arms filled with loaves of cake, pots 
of cream and jars of jam. 

“ Quicker 1 Hurry ! ” they would cry. 
“ He said he would jump if we didn’t.” 

For sometimes, if they didn’t run fast 
enough or didn’t bring enough food, he did 
jump and then, — the ground shook so hard 
that all the houses fell down flat! 

The villages for miles around had been 
built up so often that the people were tired 
out, and as for the children, — they never 
had a crumb of cake or a taste of cream or 
jam any more. 

“We must keep it for the ogre,” their 


An Ogre and His Dragon 209 

mothers said. “ If he doesn't have enough 
he is sure to jump and then, — oh, we are 
so tired of falling flat with our houses on 
top of us! ” 

But the ogre was hated especially by the 
fairies of all kinds. He drank up the pools 
and streams where the water nymphs live, 
and they had to sit around, very dry and 
uncomfortable, until the rain filled up the 
pools again. He crushed all the flowers and 
ferns where the little elves were playing, 
and as for the tree fairies, — dryads we call 
them — they were in despair. 

“ I had just put all my spirit into the 
leaves and branches of a white birch," one 
tree maiden cried. “ Its leaves were like 
lace, its bark was of silver. Along came that 
old ogre ! He pulled my lovely birch up by 
its roots, hardly giving me time to drop 
out. 

“ ‘ This will make a pretty walking stick ! * 
he roared, tearing off the leaves and 
branches. Of course, as soon as he leaned 
on it, the slender trunk broke to splinters. 
Oh, the beast! ” 


2io 44 Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

44 That is nothing! ” cried another dryad, 
one whose brown locks were crowned with 
oak leaves. “ I sang songs of heroes to my 
little oak, until it grew into a tree so splen- 
did that the very whisper of its leaves told 
tales of glory. The ogre broke off the 
branches and threw them into the sea for 
his dragon to swim for. When there was 
nothing left but the bare trunk in which I 
hid trembling, he shouted, * Here, my Snap 
Dragon, I can make a sound like your tail ! * 

“ Then roaring with horrible laughter, he 
snapped the great tree trunk in two and I 
fled sobbing through the woods ! ” 

“And we, we too,” cried the flower fairies. 
“ When we are having the finest time play- 
ing tag and hide-and-seek he stamps his 
heavy boot down among us, and we creep 
away, but the flowers never lift their heads 
again.” 

“You forget us!” cried a lot of funny 
little elves with brown caps and twinkling 
eyes. “We take care of all the birds and 
wood creatures. When we come riding 
gaily along on rabbits and squirrels the ogre 


An Ogre and His Dragon 21 1 

shouts, ‘Here, Snap Dragon, catch those 
rats now ! ’ Then that horrid beast chases 
the little animals we have been training and 
gobbles them up ! ” 

Just then a beautiful figure with shining 
wings came flying over the forest. He 
paused a moment, hovering above the tree 
tops and said, in a voice which sounded like 
the thrush’s call at twilight, “ You have 
your trees and pools, flowers and creatures 
to protect, but I guard the children. The 
ogre and his dragon frighten them so badly 
that when any one merely snaps their fingers 
or jumps, the children tremble with fear. 
‘ Don’t let that dragon snap or that giant 
jump again,’ they cry to me! Why don’t 
you clever fairies think of some way to get 
rid of him? You have plenty of magic on 
the earth and my power is in the sky. See 
if your enchantments aren’t strong enough 
to change his manners.” 

All the fairy folk sprang up and talked 
at the same time, they were so excited. 

“ Lock him up in a tree ! ” cried the water 
nymphs. 


212 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

“ And have him spoil the forest? — no! M 
cried the dryads. “ It would be much better 
to drown him in the lake.” 

“And turn all the water black? — no in- 
deed ! ” exclaimed the nymphs. “ Bury him 
in the ground, we say ! ” 

“And have all the flowers jumping and 
snapping? What an idea ! ” cried the flower 
fairies. “ Let the animals bite him to 
death.” 

“ And make them turn into horrid little 
black things? There are snakes and bats 
enough as it is ! ” said the elves crossly. 

The shining figure was resting upon his 
wings, listening. 

“ Why don’t you make him so small that 
he can’t do any harm ? ” he asked. “ My chil- 
dren grow up and so do the trees and flowers 
and animals, but the elves and flower fairies 
stay small always. How do you do it? ” 

“ By living upon honey and dew,” cried 
the fairies. “ It is full of magic. The bees 
and butterflies drink it too and keep little. 
But it would take millions of drops to feed 
the ogre and his dragon.” 


An Ogre and His Dragon 213 

“ We’ll all help,” cried the others. “ Yes, 
we’ll gather dew and squeeze honey and not 
touch a drop ourselves, while we work,” 
echoed the elves. 

“ Here is a cup for the dew,” sang the 
shining figure dropping a white lily blossom 
among them. 

“ And here is a box for the honey ! ” called 
a dryad, holding up the hollow branch of a 
dead tree. 

Great excitement reigned in the forest! 

The next day the ogre was taking a nap 
in his black castle, with the dragon asleep 
beside him. The giant was snoring so hard 
that the castle shook, and every now and 
then the dragon snapped his tail at a dragon 
fly. Outside the window stood the dryads 
and nymphs and elves and fairies, watching. 
They had filled the lily with dew and gath- 
ered honey from the flowers, who opened 
their storerooms wide to help. Honey 
carried by the bees would not do; it loses 
its magic power unless it comes straight 
from the flowers. 

A dryad and a nymph climbed through 


214 " Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before 99 

the window carrying the honey box and be- 
hind them flew a fairy bearing the lily cup. 
They laid them upon the table beside which 
the giant sat, his ugly head resting on his 
outstretched arms. Outside the fairies 
stood watching excitedly, their forefingers 
to their lips. 

The slight rustling the flower fairies made 
with their wings must have wakened the 
ogre, for no sooner had they flown away 
than he opened his eyes, yawned, and looked 
around for the dragon. As that hateful 
beast put his paws upon the ogre's black 
shoulders the master patted him and cried, 
“ I'm hungry ! Let’s go and get some 
food!” 

The dragon snapped his red jaws and 
rolled his yellow eyes, delightedly. 

Then the ogre caught sight of the dew 
and honey. 

“Look what’s here!” he exclaimed. 
“ People are beginning to be thoughtful — 
ha, my little pet? ” 

He gobbled up the honey and threw the 
box with a little left to the dragon to lick. 


An Ogre and His Dragon 215 

Then, very thirsty, he picked up the cup of 
dew. 

“ Snap, snap ! ” went the dragon, trying to 
get his red tongue into the cup while his 
master was drinking. 

“Stop! down, you greedy beast!” cried 
the giant trying to strike the dragon. But 
he couldn't! He had been growing smaller 
and smaller until, about the size of your 
hand, his blow was no more than the touch 
of a feather. 

“ Ho ! ha ! hum ! ” cried the ogre, terrified. 
“What has happened? What am I?” 

But the dragon couldn't answer. He had 
finished the dew and was shrinking fast. 
When he was the size of a peanut he stopped 
and “snap, snapping!” like one small rub- 
ber strap he tore out into the forest, the 
ogre after him. I call him the ogre but 
there was nothing left to remind you of that 
enormous creature, nothing except a little 
black imp who rushed furiously into the 
wood crying, “ I'll jump, I will, you had 
better look out! ” 

Of course, the fairies were still watching, 


216 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

and when they saw that silly little figure and 
heard his threat they laughed so hard that 
the nymphs slipped backward into the lake, 
dryads leaned weakly against the trees, 
while the fairies and elves rushed after him, 
trying to catch him. The fairies caught the 
dragon, but the imp raced on with the elves 
mounted upon squirrels and rabbits tearing 
after him. 

“ Snap, Snap ! ” went the dragon crossly 
biting at the tiny hands which held him. 
“ Snap ! ” went his wee tail, knocking 
over several others who were standing 
near. 

“ This will never do,” cried the fairies. 
“ Let’s shower him with pollen.” 

You know about the golden dust which 
is in the flowers, don’t you? It is all magic 
and makes the new flowers. 

So when the dragon was covered with 
pollen, he gave one big last “ snap,” and 
turned into a flower, — a Snap Dragon! 

You have seen Snap Dragons growing in 
the garden, I am sure. Although they are 
of many colours, they all came from the 


An Ogre and His Dragon 217 

seed of that one plant. It was fiery red and 
gold, just like the dragon ! 

But the ogre! He ran on and on with 
the elves chasing after him until he came 
to a marsh ; there, in the black mud he hid. 
Until midnight he stayed there while the 
elves rode on, thinking he was still ahead of 
them. 

And he wasn’t idle, oh no! the horrid 
thing. He made friends with the water 
snakes and the shiny worms and bugs which 
live there. 

“ How do you keep your coats so nice and 
black?” he asked. “I would like to keep 
myself as slippery and well polished.” 

He had a plan in his mind. He was go- 
ing to pay the fairies back ! 

The snakes dove down into the mud and 
from the roots of the eel grass they brought 
up a pot of black paint. 

“ Here is black enough to paint the whole 
forest,” they cried in their oily voices. 

“ And here is a paint brush,” squeaked a 
bat, dropping a bit off its wing. “ Come 
on, little black devil, I’ll give you a ride. 


218 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

You look enough like me to be my 
brother ! ” 

Sure enough, there were horns on the 
imp’s head like the ears of the bat and he 
had — he really had — a tiny forked tail, 
something like the claws on the bat’s 
wings and exactly like the pictures of little 
devils ! ” 

“ Ah — oh — um ! ” cried the imp, balancing 
himself upon the bat’s back. “ This is life 
now ! ” 

On over the forest toward the town flew 
the bat and his rider, the paint pot and 
brush hanging on a hook beneath the bat’s 
wing. 

A railroad train went flashing along be- 
low them, its cinders, which in those days 
were golden as the flames they came from, 
pouring out in a cloud of brightness from 
the smoke-stack. 

“ Stop a moment ! ” cried the imp. 

The bat swooped down toward the engine 
and into it the imp poured some of his black 
paint. 

" Hurrah ! ” he cried, clapping his hands. 


An Ogre and His Dragon 219 

For out of the engine puffed clouds of 
horrid, black cinders, dirty and sooty as they 
are to-day. 

“ That will blacken things up a bit,” 
shouted the imp. “ Now take me to all the 
places where crowds of people meet. I'll 
show them that even though I am small I 
can make them miserable.” 

Through factories and machine shops 
where hundreds of people worked, in the 
boilers of steamers, through houses where 
people lived crowded close together, the bat 
flew all night long. And everywhere he 
went the imp poured his black magic or 
painted walls and machines with it. He 
even touched up the faces of sleeping chil- 
dren ! 

The elves were searching for him in vain. 
“ Where has he hidden? ” they cried. 

“ Not in the trees,” rustled the dryads. 

“ Not in the water,” rippled the nymphs. 

“ Not among the flowers,” sang the 
fairies. 

Little did they dream that he was more 
horrible, more dangerous than ever before. 


220 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

He had planned to paint the whole world 
black 1 

The beautiful shining figure was flying 
over the towns, guarding the sleeping 
children and there, painting the nose of a 
mischievous little boy who had once laughed 
at the jumping ogre, the shining one saw 
the imp. 

Like a flash the angel flew down and 
touched the imp’s paint brush with his 
finger, while into the black pot he shook the 
golden pollen from one of his lilies. ; 

Without looking at the little boy’s nose, 
the imp gave it another dab and flew away, 
never dreaming that he left that nose with 
a shining golden tip upon it. 

On through the air flew the bat with the 
imp. 

“ The sun is rising, let’s paint it black ! ” 
cried the imp and the bat squeaked with 
glee, as he flew madly on half blinded by 
the sun’s rays. As he flew over a garden, 
the imp cried: 

“ Stop a bit, here is the spot where the 
fairies caught my dragon ; in another second 


An Ogre and His Dragon 221 

the flowers will be as black as the cin- 
ders !” 

He poured some of his paint upon the 
flowers, — sunflowers, marigolds and nastur- 
tiums. They were rather dull yellowish 
things then, but after the paint had touched 
them they blazed out into pure gold. 

“ Ha, ho, horror!” screamed the imp. 
“ Some one has been fooling with my 
paint ! ” 

Filled with fury he sprang from the bat 
to the ground and, forgetting how small he 
was, he jumped and jumped and jumped 
with anger until he sank into the earth right 
up to his neck! Then, because some of the 
angel's pollen had fallen on him too, he 
turned into a black pansy, with just a speck 
of gold on his nose which his brush made 
as he threw it away. 

And his brush ! Look for it in the 

meadows in July. It has grown into thou- 
sands of gold tipped brushes and we call it 
— The Devil's Paint Brush. 



As Jamie gazed at the maple tree, gorgeous 
with its red and gold leaves, the tree disappeared 
and in its place stood a little King in his coronation 
robes l 


XIX 


The Gay Little King 

S O gay it looked, that young maple tree 
standing in the centre of the pasture 
with rows and rows of dark cedars 
and hemlocks growing around it! They 
towered above the little maple and yet 
seemed to bow before it, as with their size 
and strength they shielded it from the wind 
which tossed their branches. It was cov- 
ered, this small tree, with leaves of flaming 
crimson and gold which danced and fluttered 
merrily in the sunshine. 

“ Is it after all only a maple tree?” 
thought the little lad Jamie, who lay upon 
the ground in the old pasture watching. 
Ever since the frost in a single night had 
painted the leaves with splendour, that 
young tree had been a real comrade to the 
cripple boy. Jamie had hurt his back the 

year before, and this summer, while the 
223 


224 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before” 

other boys climbed mountains and swam 
streams, Jamie could only hobble upon his 
crutches as far as the pasture. There he lay 
for hours upon the grass, watching the 
clouds drift across the sky and wishing he 
were a cloud or a bird, so he could fly also. 
The days seemed very long, and to make 
them pass more quickly Jamie made up 
stories about the mountains in the distance, 
the stream which rippled at the foot of the 
pasture and the dark evergreen trees which 
surrounded that flaming maple. 

“ They are dull old courtiers and he is a 
gay little king in his coronation robes,” 
thought the boy and then — he sat up in 
astonishment and rubbed his eyes. Was he 
dreaming? No, it was all real, the young 
maple was gone and in its place was a little 
king ! 

A crown of gleaming jewels was upon his 
head, he was dressed in robes of flaming 
crimson and over all was flung a mantle 
of woven gold. And the dark evergreens, 
where were they? There was no sign of 
them, and around the King stood a throng 


225 


The Gay Little King 

of grave and solemn courtiers dressed in 
green velvet, all gazing frowningly at the 
King. He was stamping his foot, Jamie 
heard the stamp, and then he heard the 
King cry in a clear boyish voice : 

“ I won't be a king! I won't sit upon a 
throne all day long and make laws and 
punish people and be bowed down to. I 
want to be a little boy and have fun, I 
do!" 

At that moment a gust of wind blew the 
King’s mantle from his shoulders; it looked 
like a handful of golden leaves flying 
through the air, and the King himself — or 
was it only a branch of scarlet leaves? — 
no, it was the little King who came scam- 
pering over the grass toward Jamie. 

“ Come," he said gleefully. “ We are go- 
ing to run away, you and I. We're going to 
have the merriest day of our whole lives ! " 

“ But my crutches ! " sighed Jamie. “ See, 
I can't run." 

“Can't you?" whispered the little King 
gently. “ Close your eyes and keep tight 
hold of my hand." 


226 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before 99 

As Jamie shut his eyes he felt something 
very soft like a bit of thistle-down against 
his cheek, and then as light as that same 
thistle he felt himself rising from the 
ground, drifting, floating, flying, up, up 

“ Now open your eyes,” said the King’s 
laughing voice. Jamie obeyed and for a 
moment he was puzzled. Was he a king, 
too, he wondered, for his clothes were of 
crimson velvet like the lad’s beside him, or 
were they both only leaves fluttering 
through the air ! 

“Never mind what you are,” cried the 
King, reading his look of bewilderment. 
“We can all be lots more things than we 
dream of until the Spirit of Autumn takes 
hold of us. The folks below think us only 
leaves but we know better, and now, where 
shall we go? This is my last gorgeous day, 
for to-night Autumn flies away from the 
cold breath of winter. Let’s fly to the spot 
you wish to see more than anything else in 
the world.” 

“ Flying like this is such fun that I don’t 
care where we go,” answered Jamie. Then 


227 


The Gay Little King 

suddenly both leaves — but let us say boys — 
stopped drifting and gazed in wonder at 
the sight before them. They were in the 
sunshine but a shower was falling in the 
distance and opposite them, across the sky, 
stretched a perfect rainbow. 

“ Did you ever hear of the pot of gold at 
the rainbow’s foot? ” asked Jamie excitedly. 
“ Let’s go there now and find it! ” 

“All right,” answered the little King. 
" Let’s go there, and if we don’t find the 
pot of gold we may find something still 
more wonderful.” 

Through the air they flew toward the 
rainbow, whose colours were paling a little 
in the centre but growing more and more 
glorious at the end. 

“ Shut your eyes again and hold my hand 
tight,” said the King. “ I must fill your 
eyes with mist or you would be blinded by 
the sight you are going to see. No boy 
has ever seen it before except in dreams.” 

For a moment Jamie shivered, they 
seemed to be passing through a thick fog, 
and then : 


228 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

“ Open your eyes ! ” cried the King. 
Jamie looked — what did he see? 

Picture to yourself a great golden hall 
filled with streams of colours, each as ra- 
diant as the sunshine, and yet, seen through 
spectacles of mist, so soft they could not 
dazzle your eyes. Each great sheath of 
colour was moving, shifting and weaving 
itself in and out among the others like the 
figures of a dancer, so quickly that it was 
almost impossible to catch it. And yet that 
was just what hundreds of gay little fairies 
with butterfly wings were trying to do. 
Every one carried a golden pot and as they 
caught one colour after another, their cap- 
tives rushed away, leaving a bit of colour 
stuff in the fairy’s hand. Hastily dropping 
that bit into his golden pot the fairy was 
off again with a merry laugh, chasing 
another dancing, gleaming bit of rain- 
bow. 

“So there are the pots of gold!” cried 
Jamie. “ But what do the fairies do with 
the rainbow’s colours?’’ 

Just then a very merry sprite came tear- 


The Gay Little King 229 

ing past, his pot brimming over with glow- 
ing crimson. 

“ My colour is the favourite just now ! ” 
he cried. “ I’ve got one billion trees to paint 
and all that’s left over goes to the Cardinal 
flowers.” 

“ Mine is just as popular,” sang out an- 
other fairy, his pot overflowing with gold. 
“ There are millions of Goldenrods for me 
to colour as well as the trees ! ” 

“ And autumn loves mine too,” sang a 
delicate little sprite whose pot was filled 
with violet. “ Think of all the Asters with- 
out which your Goldenrods would be very 
tiresome.” 

“And mine,” rippled another, his pot 
filled with blue like the sea. “ Autumn al- 
ways wants mine. The Gentians are rare 
because one blossom takes more colour than 
a thousand of spring’s Forget-me-nots.” 

Just then a flaming stream of orange 
floated past and Jamie and the little King 
made one grab at it. 

“ Thieves ! Robbers ! ” cried the colours 
in a whirl of fury. In a second they were 


230 41 Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

all dancing madly before the eyes of the 
terrified boys. Then there was a crash as of 
thunder and the lads found themselves lying 
upon the ground, thick, gray mist all about 
them. The glorious golden hall at the rain- 
bow’s foot had vanished. 

44 1 suppose we deserved that,” sighed 
Jamie, 44 but I did want a pocketful of colour 
stuff to show the boys.” 

44 Never mind, let’s fly out of this mist and 
have more fun ! ” cried the little King. 

Up they floated into the sunshine and 
they found that the winds had been busy 
while they were gone. Almost every tree 
stood dark and bare and the air was full of 
brilliant whispering leaves. 

44 Winter is surely coming soon,” said the 
little King. 44 Look at the spot below us 
where I grew.” Beneath them, in the centre 
of the pasture, stood the maple tree, only 
one crimson leaf still fluttering from its 
branches. 

44 When that leaf is gone, I’ll have to say 
good-night for many months,” said the King. 
44 Come, before that happens we’ll go to the 


The Gay Little King 231 

cavern of the winds and see how Autumn 
plays upon them.** 

They flew upward, and this time it was so 
cold that Jamie drew his scarlet robes close 
about him. Through the first thin clouds 
they flew, then right into a great cloud, 
looking like an enormous castle, they 
floated. It was one huge hall, so vast that 
Jamie couldn’t see the other end, but he 
could hear far, far away beyond great arches, 
the rumbling of a mighty organ. Crashing 
and thunderous it sounded until the vast hall 
shook and echoed with the sound. 

“ That is Autumn playing upon the organ 
of the winds,” said the little King, and al- 
though he shouted in Jamie’s ear it sounded 
like a whisper above the music. “ When she 
touches the keys the winds fill the pipes 
and go roaring off to carry away the leaves 
below,” he explained. “ But listen, she 
knows the leaves have almost all fallen now 
and she is singing her good-night to them.” 

The crashing had ceased and through the 
great hall echoed a slumber song, as sweet 
and tender as the song of a brooding dove. 


232 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

Jamie closed his eyes and thought of lap- 
ping waves, and sunsets, and the stars blos- 
soming in the sky. 

Did he sleep there in the Winds* Cavern 
with the Spirit of Autumn singing good- 
night to her flaming world? He never 
knew. When he opened his eyes he found 
himself standing upon the door-step of his 
own home! He was drawing something 
soft and white about him to keep out the 
cold and he heard a whispered: 

“ Good-night, Comrade, until next Au- 
tumn ! ** and a flutter of leaves flying 
through the air. Then the house door 
opened, and as he stood with the light of 
the blazing fire falling upon him he heard 
his mother’s voice: 

“ Why, Jamie, you’re covered with snow! 
And, my boy — where are your crutches? ” 

Into the house he ran, right into his 
mother’s outstretched arms, although his 
crutches were still lying out on the pasture, 
buried beneath the snow! 

And Jamie was well. Was it a gift from 
the Spirit of Autumn to a little lad? Just 


The Gay Little King 


233 


another of her precious gifts given with her 
flaming leaves, her wind’s music, her gor- 
geous flowers? She has a gift for you too, 
among all these ! Open your eyes and your 
ears, and find your heart’s desire! 




Dreaming only of gold the Captain sailed from 
countries where the mountains seemed to touch 
the moon to lands of ever-blooming flowers. 


XX 


Dreams of Gold 1 

N ORTH and south, east and west, 
far and near, the ship had sailed, 
the ship whose captain dreamed of 
nothing but gold. He saw mountains whose 
tops seemed to touch the moon, gardens 
more splendid than any painter’s dream, 
strange wild beasts which were friendly and 
gentle, having never before seen a man. 
But the captain, Neil Cameron, from the 
highlands of Scotland, cared nothing for the 
beauties of mountain or sea or garden. His 
one thought, day and night, was gold, more 
gold, until he should have greater treasure 
than any king or emperor, yes, greater than 
any man who had ever lived. 

Whenever his ship was loaded with nug- 
gets of gold which he had dug in those far- 

1 Partially adapted from Fiona MacLeod. 

2 35 


236 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

away spots, he would sail back to a huge 
cave in the south, where he stored his great 
possessions. Around the cave was a dense 
forest, through which no man had ever jour- 
neyed, and in front of the cave Neil had 
hung an iron door, which could never be 
broken. It seemed absolutely safe, for who 
would ever guess that gold enough to buy a 
kingdom was stored in that far-away spot? 

Neil had not been home to Scotland since, 
as a little lad, he had run away to sea. He 
had quarrelled with his father, who wished 
him to be a shepherd and earn money 
enough to pay for his food and clothing. 

“ What, I tend stupid sheep and cows ! ” 
the boy had cried. “ /, who mean to be as 
rich as the laird of yonder castle and as 
powerful as any king — no ! ” 

When his father had answered sternly 
that unless the boy worked he should not 
eat, Neil had cried bitterly: 

“You will never see my face again, but 
you will hear of me — you will hear of the 
lad who ran away from home with nothing 
but a dream of gold! ” 


Dreams of Gold 


237 


So the boy hid in the hold of a ship sailing 
to China, and when the captain found him 
he was glad to keep him and make him work 
as a sailor. From a common sailor Neil had 
worked his way up to be a Captain, the 
master of his own ship. 

Every night, and often when he was wide 
awake in the daytime, Neil dreamed. He 
saw, in his dream, his ragged clothes 
changed to royal robes, all men bowing be- 
fore him, calling him “ Your Lordship 
saw the shower of gold he threw carelessly 
among the crowds as he rode through 
them. 

He forgot his home, his mother, whose 
darling he had been, his father, who also had 
had a dream, — a dream of a son who would 
comfort him in his old age. Never a 
thought did Neil give to that cottage in the 
bleak highlands where, in the pine tree be- 
side the door, a gray homing dove had made 
her nest. Often and often as a lad he had 
waked early in the morning and listened to 
the soft “ coo-coo ” of that dove. The 
sound seemed to mean home and love. His 


238 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

mother’s voice also had a tender note in it, 
so like the call of the dove that when Neil 
was very sleepy he was sometimes puzzled 
to know which he was listening to. 

But that was long ago. Dreams of gold 
and dreams of home do not often come at 
the same time, and Neil had nothing now 
to remind him of home love. He was a 
stern, hard master, giving his sailors heavy 
work and small pay. 

Then one day, when he had sailed through 
the muddy creek to the spot where his cave 
of treasure was, he sprang to his feet and 
gave a cry of horror. 

“Where is my cave, my gold, my all?” 
he cried. “Am I going blind? Tell me, 
you and you! Is there nothing there? ” 

“ Nothing but a pile of stones and up- 
rooted trees, Master,” answered the sailors. 
“ There must have been an earthquake 
here.” 

“ Do you not see my gold, my glittering 
treasure, lying upon the stones?” cried 
Neil, springing into a rowboat to reach the 
shore. “ Row faster, faster, you dogs. I 


Dreams of Gold 


239 

can see nothing, there is no trace of my be- 
loved gold ! ” 

And he was right; there was nothing 
there! 

The earthquake had shaken the cave until 
it split and fell into a pile of rocks, scatter- 
ing the treasure. But whether it had been 
found by others and carried off, or whether 
the sea had washed it away, none could tell. 

Neil stood upon the rocks cursing and 
weeping with rage. 

“ Listen to him, the old miser,” whispered 
the sailors. “ He is paid now for the way 
he treated us. Let us leave him here alone 
with his ship, and walk around the shore 
until we find a village and the men who took 
the gold. We will lay claim to it and be 
rich for life.” 

Deep in his despair Neil did not see or 
hear them go. The day passed and the 
gold of the setting sun was all there was left 
to the Captain of his lost treasure. 

Suddenly through the twilight Neil saw a 
man with shining wings. His eyes were 
dark as mountain pools, his hair light and 


240 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

soft as thistle-down, and in it poppy leaves 
were twined. 

Neil could neither move nor speak, he 
only trembled with terror. Who was this 
strange visitor? 

“ God be with you, Neil Cameron,” said 
the stranger. That was the greeting which 
friends gave one another in the highlands of 
Scotland. Neil’s heart gave a great throb. 
In his hour of misery had he found a friend? 

“Who are you?” he cried. “And how 
do you know my name? ” 

“ I have come,” said the stranger, “ to 
give you whatever you most wish for.” 

Neil laughed bitterly. 

“ That is impossible,” he cried. “ I have 
worked and dreamed for years and years. 
Look at this pile of stone, beneath which 
treasure enough for a king’s desire was once 
safely hid. It has all gone, every atom ! ” 
And again his face grew black and desper- 
ate. 

“ You may have far more than you have 
lost,” answered the visitor. “ Is that the 
one wish of your heart? ” 


Dreams of Gold 


241 


“ Yes, yes,” cried Neil. “ I long for gold 
alone, all the gold and power there is in the 
world. I would have it all at my feet and 
kings coming to me like beggars.” 

“You can have that, Neil Cameron,” an- 
swered the visitor, and he waved a wand of 
witch hazel in the air. 

“ What is that for? ” asked Neil. 

“ It is to open a door that is in the air. 
And now if you will give up all other dreams 
and wishes for that wish, you can have the 
ruling of the world. Aye, and more than 
that. You shall have the sun like a golden 
jewel in your right hand and all the stars as 
pearls in your left. You shall have the 
moon as a shining opal upon your brow, 
with all knowledge behind the sun, within 
the moon and beyond the stars.” 

Cameron’s face shone with joy. He stood 
waiting. 

Then, through the dusk, he heard the 
sound which meant home, the “ coo-coo ” 
of a dove. In a flash his dream of gold 
was gone. In a vision he saw a pine tree 
beside a cottage, in the doorway of which 


242 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

stood an old woman with yearning in her 
eyes. 

“ Oh, my lad, my Neil, will you no come 
home again?” he heard her cry, and her 
voice was as soft as the cooing dove which 
flew toward its nest in the old tree. 

The dream faded and Neil stood upon the 
rocks, alone with his angel visitor. 

“ Ah, wait!” cried Neil. “ Instead of 
gold give me — I am not worthy to have my 
home again — give me a warm breast-feather 
from that gray dove which is winging home 
to her young.” 

The visitor was gone. Neil Cameron was 
alone. Was it a dream only? But a weight 
was lifted from his heart. Peace fell upon 
him as dew upon gray pastures. And in his 
hand he held the gray feather of a homing 
dove ! 

All by himself — or did the angel visitor 
help him? — Neil sailed back to the north of 
Scotland. And there one evening he came 
in sight of a tiny cottage. Beside the door 
stood a pine tree toward which a gray dove 
was flying and in the doorway — was it only 


Dreams of Gold 


243 


a dream? Ah no, there stood his mother! 
Was the dove crooning to her young or was 
it his mother’s voice he heard, “ My son, my 
little lad, where are you? ” 

One instant more and she was clasped in 
her boy’s arms, while over them the sunset 
and the sky glowed with golden glory. 

Neil Cameron’s dream had come true ! 



The Sacred White Ivory Elephant of India 
winked one turquoise eye, waved his tail, wiggled 
his trunk and — became alive! 



XXI 


The White Elephant 

ONG live the Sacred White Ele- 
j phant of India! ” cried the priests. 

'‘May his glory never fail!” 

In a temple in India, in front of an enor- 
mous ivory elephant, a company of gor- 
geously robed priests were kneeling. In 
the courtyard behind them, separated from 
the inner temple by a golden gate, hundreds 
of men and women worshiped. 

“We bring Thee presents of the first- 
fruits of our gardens! ” they cried. “ Bless 
our harvests, cure our children, accept our 
gifts!” 

Then the gates were opened and the pres- 
ents were handed to the priests. There 
were fine, fresh melons, juicy peaches, 
baskets of purple grapes, besides piles of 
money in copper, silver and gold. 

245 


246 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

These gifts were offered to the Elephant 
and after he had gazed at them with his 
unseeing turquoise eyes they were sup- 
posed to be given to the poor people who 
lived at the other end of the city. 

After the crowds marched out of the tem- 
ple singing: 

“ Bless us, White Elephant, 

And bless our harvests ! ” 

the priests turned and — winked at one an- 
other! Then they gazed at the offerings, 
rubbing their hands with glee at the large 
amount, divided them into equal parts 
and took them home to keep for them- 
selves ! 

They thought no one was looking, for of 
course the Elephant could not see! They 
forgot the little black boy, Nicky, who was 
hired to stay awake all night and guard the 
sacred Elephant. He slept, in the daytime, 
in a little room beside the inner temple, 
and while the priests were dividing the 
money he was peeking out, watching every- 
thing. 


The White Elephant 247 

He winked also, not at the priests, but at 
the Elephant, and although no one else saw 
it the turquoise eye of the Elephant winked 
back at him ! 

It was growing dark when the priests left 
the temple and hurried to their homes. As 
soon as they had left, Nicky crept out and 
stood upon his head in front of the Ele- 
phant. Then the Elephant, the Sacred 
Ivory Elephant of India, — picked Nicky up 
with his trunk, and standing upon his hind 
legs he danced around the temple! 

“ Oh, did you hear them?” cried Nicky. 
“ There are lots of hungry children crying 
for food and those hateful old priests took 
everything for themselves ! ” 

“Never mind, I’ll punish them!” cried 
the Elephant. “ They don’t know I ever 
come alive and I’ll scare them out of their 
wits. But first take off the horrible sacred 
garments they have hung upon me — as 
though I were a towel rack ! ” 

Nicky pulled off the golden blanket em- 
broidered with diamonds, the net of pearls 
and rubies which hung over the Elephant’s 


248 " Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

head, the golden ear-rings set with emeralds 
and the larger rings incrusted with many 
jewels which encircled his huge feet. 

“ Well, now I feel better! ” cried the Ele- 
phant, taking a few dance steps. Then he 
winked his blue eye again at Nicky and ex- 
claimed : 

“ Let’s go and find those priests, let’s 
frighten them out of their wits and let’s — 
oh, let’s give them a cold shower! ” 

With his trunk he threw the delighted 
black boy upon his back and marched out 
of the inner temple, across the courtyard, — 
filled with gorgeous flowers, — through the 
great silver gates of the temple itself. It 
was a nice dark night, the kind of night 
when everything smells perfectly delicious, 
but you cannot see more than the gleam of 
the fragrant flowers through the darkness. 
The White Elephant might have been 
mistaken for a large cow by any passer- 
by. 

The priests were having a wonderful 
feast. Roasted peacocks, ostrich pie, fruits 
and cakes and wines covered the long table. 


The White Elephant 249 

The guests were roaring with laughter, 
cracking jokes about the offerings which 
they had stolen and drinking more wine 
than was good for them. Suddenly the cur- 
tain at the end of the room was thrust aside 
and there stood — the White Elephant him- 
self! 

The priests dropped their goblets upon 
the pavement where they broke into a thou- 
sand fragments, their mouths fell open, their 
eyes nearly popped out of their heads, and 
with shrieks of terror they fell flat upon 
their faces on the floor. 

“ Sacred White Elephant, Lord of the 
City, Power of India, what wilt thou? ” they 
cried. 

For a moment there was silence, except 
for the kicking heels of the priests who were 
grovelling upon the ground. 

“ He does not answer because we know 
what he seeks ! ” cried one priest. 

“Yes, yes!” they all screamed, “he has 
come for the offerings ! Forgive us ! For- 
give us, and we will restore them all. 
Every coin, every drop of fruit shall be 


250 “Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before M 

given to the poor. Only do, do leave us or 
we shall die of fright! ” 

When the Elephant entered through the 
priests’ garden he had stopped beside a pool 
there to fill his trunk. His answer now 
was to squirt that same water over them ! 
It was like bucketfuls of melting ice. They 
shivered and squealed and when they were 
thoroughly soaked the Elephant gave a 
prance of delight, which shook the room 
until the table laden with food upset upon 
the floor. Then he was satisfied — he nodded 
at Nicky who sat upon his back and trotted 
off! 

“ Oh, that was fun ! ” cried Nicky as they 
hurried back to the temple. “ What shall 
we do next full moon, White Elephant? ” 

For the night of the full moon was the 
only time that the Elephant really came 
alive. When the moon began to grow he 
was able to wink at Nicky, wave his tail in 
the air and wriggle his trunk. Not till the 
moon was full could he speak and walk, but 
Nicky knew that he was always there even 
when he couldn’t play with him and he 


The White Elephant 251 

adored him, and counted the nights until 
their parties. 

Then they did have the most splendid 
times ! They generally went to the jungle 
and played with the monkeys. Sometimes, 
when it was hot, the Elephant carried Nicky 
to a lake upon the top of a mountain, where 
they dove and swam and were cool as 
cucumbers. Once they went as far as the 
sea, and the Elephant carried the boy far out 
upon the silver path which the moon sheds 
there. And the stories he told, and the 
secrets, — it is a great thing to have a White 
Elephant for a friend! 

“ I am worried about the hundreds of 
children in this city,” said the Elephant, as 
he jogged across the temple courtyard, 
after he had punished the priests. “ They 
will get plenty of food now from my offer- 
ings, I am sure of that,” and he gave a 
chuckle. “ But this is pretty hot weather 
for children and I don’t believe they have 
any fun. There is nowhere for them to 
bathe except in that mud-hole outside the 
city, is there? ” 


252 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

“ No, and it is full of broken glass and 
tin,” said Nicky. “ The children’s feet are 
all cut up from them.” 

“ Let’s take the children with us the 
next time we go on a party ! ” exclaimed the 
Elephant. “ You gather them together and 
tell them it is a secret and then — oh, won’t 
we have fun? ” 

Both he and Nicky danced around the 
temple-court in glee and then, as the sun 
was rising, they hurried back to their 
places. Neil put the Elephant’s precious 
robe and head-dress in place and fastened 
the golden rings. Then curling up between 
the animal’s fore feet he was soon sound 
asleep. 

It seemed to Nicky that the night of the 
Elephant’s next awakening would never 
come. Every morning before he had his 
day’s sleep after the night of watching he 
ran through the narrow streets of the city 
telling the children to meet him behind the 
temple the next full moon. There was a 
path there which led right into the forest, 
and that was the way he and the White Ele- 


The White Elephant 253 

phant always started when the night was 
clear and they might be seen. 

The night arrived — a beautiful clear night 
when the full moon flooded the world with 
silver. And the Elephant — never had he 
been so gay, so fascinating! 

He danced around the temple so that 
Nicky could hardly take off the sacred 
ornaments. 

“We are going to have the best time!” 
he cried as he turned the emerald door- 
knob of the back door with his trunk. 

Out into the forest he stepped and the 
children were there in flocks, waiting, little 
brown-skinned mites with dull eyes. It was 
so hot and the flies and mosquitoes were so 
bad that they had not had any fun for weeks ! 

“ Come, youngsters ! ” shouted the Ele- 
phant, and for a moment the children were 
frightened. They crouched back against 
the trees until they saw the smallest child 
shout with glee as the Elephant lifted 
him in his trunk and placed him upon his 
back. 

“ Pick us up ; take us that way ! ” shouted 


254 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

the children, all rushing at the White Ele- 
phant. They climbed upon his back, his 
trunk, his legs, hung from his big flat ears, 
rode upon his tusks, covered him so entirely 
that the only place left for Nicky was the tip 
end of the tail, where he hung very happily. 

On through the forest marched the Ele- 
phant, crushing bushes and ferns with every 
step but gentle, oh so gentle and careful 
with the children. On he went until it 
looked as though a stream of silver were 
rushing through the forest. It was better 
than silver for those hot and thirsty chil- 
dren, it was a stream shining in the moon- 
light. Not deep enough to harm the small- 
est, but fresh and clear and full of fine pools 
for swimming. When any child went too 
near the rushing waterfall at the top they 
got a fine rolling and ducking until the Ele- 
phant’s trunk fished them out. The others 
laughed so hard that the forest echoed with 
their laughter. Oh, they were having a 
wonderful time! 

“Time to go home!” sang Nicky, and 
sure enough there was a pale, golden light 
in the east, the sign of the rising sun. 


The White Elephant 255 

The Elephant picked up one child after 
another and threw them on his back. 

“ Oh, can't we see the monkeys before we 
go home? ” cried the littlest one, sitting on 
the end of a tusk. And, “ Can't we see the 
monkeys, please, dear Elephant?" echoed 
the children. 

“ Bless your hearts, indeed you shall," 
trumpeted the Elephant. “ I’ll take you 
back through the heart of the jungle where 
the monkeys live." 

There they all were, swinging from the 
trees, picking queer fruit which they sucked 
for early breakfast or threw at one another. 
When they saw the Elephant loaded down 
with children they chattered with delight, 
dashed to the ground, made a huge circle 
around him, danced and danced — until the 
sun rose ! 

“ Hurry, hurry ! you will be seen ! " cried 
Nicky. 

So with the monkeys and the children 
waving and calling to each other the White 
Elephant turned homeward, one baby 
monkey still hanging on to the Elephant’s 
ear. I don't know whether he lost his way 


256 44 Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

or whether watching so carefully to see that 
all the children were safe made him forget 
to take the path to the back door of the 
temple. Anyway, he marched right down 
the wide street which ran through the centre 
of the city, — and the sun was shining 
brightly ! 

Of course no one could help seeing a big 
white elephant with several hundred chil- 
dren and one monkey hanging to him. The 
first to see the marvellous sight was a man 
going to work. He gave a shout of wonder, 
called a friend who yelled, “ Do I dream? 
Wonder of wonders !” and in a few moments 
the whole city was awake. 

" The Sacred White Elephant has broken 
his centuries of sleep to walk forth and 
carry our children !” they cried. “ Never 
was such a sight seen before ! Ah, gracious 
White Elephant, pause and listen to our 
prayers ! ” 

But the Elephant did not stop. He 
marched right on, with the children cling- 
ing to him, through the silver gates of the 
temple, across the court to his own pedestal. 
There he stood as usual, only instead of a 


The White Elephant 257 

blanket and net of gold and jewels he was 
covered with children, and instead of stand- 
ing like a dead image he threw up his trunk 
and trumpeted. The court was full of peo- 
ple, indeed the whole city was there and no 
efforts of the terrified priests could keep the 
crowd from pushing into the inner temple 
and kneeling before the Elephant. 

“ Silence !” he trumpeted. Not a whis- 
per was heard. 

“ I have come down from my pedestal and 
walked through your city because ” 

All were listening breathless to hear the 
great reason for which an ivory elephant 
had come to life. 

“ Because there was no one else who knew 
how to play with the children ! ” 

“ Bless him, bless him !” cried the mothers 
and fathers. 

“ From this day forward/’ went on the 
Elephant, “ I shall play with them every 
full moon, and that night shall belong to the 
children. But in the meantime ” — here he 
trumpeted again. “ In the meantime I com- 
mand the priests to use the treasure which 
has been offered to me these last hundreds 


258 “Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

of years in making the whole city a chil- 
dren's playground.” 

“ Yes, yes,” moaned the priests. 

“They shall have swimming pools, gar- 
dens, merry-go-rounds, see-saws to play with, 
sweets and ices very often and plenty of 
animals to play with — especially monkeys ! ” 

Here the little monkey climbed down the 
Elephant’s trunk and danced in front of him. 

“ If I hear children crying or see them 
looking unhappy I shall know who is to 

blame and I shall ” here he absolutely 

rolled his blue eyes at the priests and they 
shivered as though cold water had just been 
thrown upon them. 

“All shall be as you say, most Sacred 
Elephant!” they shrieked. 

“Remember!” trumpeted the Elephant, 
and — there was nothing but a white ivory 
image standing there again! 

The children climbed off his back and 
Nicky placed the gleaming ornaments upon 
him. Slowly the crowd scattered, smiling; 
gaily the children scampered off to talk of 
all the wonderful doings ; gloomily the 
priests shuffled away to open their hidden 


The White Elephant 259 

treasure and make plans for a gigantic play- 
ground which should fill the entire city. 

Within the inner temple the Sacred Ele- 
phant stood motionless while upon his trunk 
the smallest monkey in the jungle swung 
and chattered and by his side a gay little 
black boy danced a jig. 

The Sacred White Elephant winked his 
turquoise eye, first at the boy then at the 
monkey. 

“ Good work, comrades ! ” he said. 

“ Did the children ride upon the Elephant 
every full moon and are they riding still? ” 
you ask. 

All I know is that in India, or some such 
country, there is a city which is called the 
Children’s City, because it is full of things 
that children love the most. In the temple 
stands an enormous white ivory elephant 
and every child in the city wears, around 
his neck, a tiny image of this elephant. One 
of them was brought to this country — you 
will see a picture of him on the first page of 
this story — so the tale must be true ! 


44 I started out to find the North Pole and I 
lost my way ! ” sobbed the little seat* 44 1 want 
my mother ! n 


XXII 


North Wind’s Baby 

T HE North Wind was roaring and 
tearing over the long miles of snow 
and ice around the North Pole. 
He was having a splendid time ! In spite of 
his icy breath and his loud voice, the North 
Wind is a kind-hearted fellow and never 
means to blow down houses or trees or 
freeze children's noses. But over the snowy 
stretches near the North Pole there is noth- 
ing to knock down, not a house, person or 
animal. He could blow as hard as he liked 
and gracious, — how he did blow! 

The fastest railroad train in the world 
moves like a snail compared to the way he 
rushed and tore over those long white miles, 
laughing and yelling for joy as he flew! 

Suddenly, upon the snow below him, he 
saw a black ball. One good blow would 

send it flying into the sea. He puffed out 
261 


262 " Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before 99 

his cheeks for that blow, — when the ball un- 
rolled itself and gave a squeak ! 

North Wind swallowed such a lot of air 
that he almost burst Then he swooped 
down to see what that queer black object 
was. It was a baby seal and it was crying 
and sobbing until the tears, which froze into 
ice diamonds the moment they were shed, 
stretched in long glittering lines around 
him. 

“ I want my mother ! ” he blubbered. 

North Wind felt so sorry for him that he 
almost cried too. It was good he didn’t, for 
when North Wind cries there is such a cold 
freezing storm that it takes the sun weeks 
to clear the world up again after him. He 
remembered that, so, instead, he asked in 
his gentlest voice, which sounded like a 
great, gruff shout : 

“ Who is your mother, you poor baby? ” 

“ She is — she is — oh, she is the most 
beautiful animal in the world,” sobbed the 
seal. 

“ Now look here, you stop crying and I 
will take you to her,” roared the Wind. “ I 


North Wind's Baby 263 

know every animal and of course I know 
the most beautiful; she isn't far from here. 
Just snuggle down in my fur-lined pocket 
and keep warm." 

He tucked the seal into the deep pouch 
which he carries under his right wing and 
blew off faster than ever. Over snow and 
ice he flew until, scattered over a great white 
field, he saw a herd of reindeer playing. 

“Ah, but they are beautiful ! " exclaimed 
the North Wind watching them. “ It is no 
wonder that Santa Claus chose them to 
draw his sleigh ! Now which, I wonder, is 
the mother of this poor lost baby?" 

A splendid doe stopped leaping and ran 
toward him. Beside her frisked a young 
deer, its horns just turning into branching 
antlers. 

“ Here, you beautiful mother, I have a 
baby of yours here! " called the Wind. 

“A baby of mine?" asked the deer, 
puzzled. 

“Yes, here he is," and the Wind picked 
the seal out of his pocket and laid him upon 
the snow. 


264 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

“ Mine, mine! ” snorted the deer scornfully. 
“ Where are his horns and his graceful feet? 
He is no baby of mine, thank you! Look, 
you other reindeer, think of North Wind 
daring to ask me whether that black crea- 
ture was my child ! ” 

The deer all threw up their heads and 
whistled through their nostrils in disgust. 
The little seal began to cry again and North 
Wind put him quickly into his pocket. 
Then, to punish the deer, he blew a cloud of 
ice and snow right into their faces. They 
turned, snorting, and galloped in every di- 
rection, and it was a long time before they 
were rude to North Wind again, I can tell 
you ! 

“ Listen, little seal, stop crying and tell me 
more about your mother,” said the Wind. 

“ Oh,” sobbed the seal, “ she is so strong, 
she is the strongest animal in the whole 
world!” 

“Ah now, why didn’t you say that be- 
fore?” cried North Wind. “Of course I 
know who she is. Cuddle down and go to 
sleep ; we will find her in no time ! ” 


265 


North Wind’s Baby 

The seal gave a snore of pleasure and was 
sound asleep ; he was tired out, — poor little 
mite ! 

On and on blew the Wind, away from the 
cold north, over countries where fires 
burned in the houses and people exclaimed, 
“ Gracious, what a cold wind ! ” as he rushed 
past. 

Still farther south he blew until he 
reached a land which he seldom visited. 
His breath froze the blossoms and made the 
people, who were running about with very 
few clothes on, shiver and shake. On to the 
jungle he blew and there, in the midst of 
great beds of fern and bushes, he found a 
herd of elephants. 

“ Ha, ha! 99 he laughed, “ at last we have 
ended the search.” There, in the midst, 
stood a great, brown mother elephant with 
a young one beside her. She was reaching 
down oranges for him with her trunk from 
the top of a tall tree. 

“ Here, Mother Elephant, here is one 
of your family ! 99 called the Wind cheer- 
fully. 


266 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

In her surprise the elephant dropped sev- 
eral oranges upon her child’s head and he 
began to whimper. 

“ One of my family? ” she asked, looking 
at the baby seal out of her small eyes. 
“ Why, he is just a little worm compared to 
my family. Where is his trunk and his 
tusks? Ugh!” 

She would have given the seal a hard slap 
with her trunk if the Wind had not seized 
him and hidden him in his pocket. 

“ Look here, you ought to be ashamed of 
yourself! ” he roared, “ to treat a little lost 
baby like that. Here now ! ” 

He blew such a blast at the elephant and 
her child that they were both blown right 
over and over until they landed upon their 
heads in a bed of thorn bushes, their clumsy 
feet waggling in the air. 

“ There, that will teach you a lesson in 
manners ! ” roared the Wind. “ Come now, 
little seal, hold on tight; I must hurry back 
to the north, where I can get a breath of 
cool air ! ” 

When they were flying over a nice patch 


North Wind's Baby 267 

of snow again he stopped and fished the 
little animal out of his pocket. 

“ You must be almost smothered/* he 
said. “ Here, sit upon my wing and tell me 
what kind of a creature your mother really 
is. What can she do? ** 

“ Oh, she can jump,” cried the seal, taking 
long whiffs of the clear, cold air, “ she can 
jump more beautifully than anything in the 
sea ! ** 

“The sea? Then she is a fish! Why 
didn’t you say that at first? ” exclaimed the 
Wind. 

Over the blue water he flew until he 
reached the middle of the great ocean. 
There an enormous whale was playing with 
her two young ones, rolling them over with 
flaps of her tail and stopping every now and 
then to swallow a few smaller fish the way 
people swallow oysters, without chewing 
them. 

“ Hullo, Mrs. Whale/* called the Wind. 
“ Here is another baby of yours, a very little 
one.” 

He held the seal out, and the whale — it is 


268 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before M 

too terrible, but it is true — made a grab at 
him with her teeth ! When she missed him 
she cried: 

“ Well, he will do for dessert for my chil- 
dren’s supper; throw him to them ! ” 

The North Wind was furious. He blew 
and blew until the waves were miles high 
and the whales had to dive down to the bot- 
tom of the sea and stay there until they 
were very much ashamed. 

“ Oh, dear,” sighed the Wind, “ it is get- 
ting pretty late. There is the moon shin- 
ing. I must blow back to my cave and rest 
a bit or the whole world will be frozen and 
my sister, South Wind, will scold. Here, 
little chap,” he said to the seal, “ sit on my 
wing and peek over the edge and tell me if 
you see anything which looks like your 
mother. I begin to think I’ll have to adopt 
you myself! ” 

“ I’m tired of blowing around ; I want to 
sleep on a cake of ice,” moaned the seal. 

Then he shook with such excitement that 
he almost fell off. 

“ Blow lower, over that frozen bay,” 


North Wind’s Baby 269 

he begged. “ There, oh there, is my beauti- 
ful, strong, wonderful mother!” 

He jumped right off the Wind’s wing into 
the soft snow and then, standing upon his 
tail, he squealed for joy ! 

One moment more and a fat brown seal 
was hugging him with her flappers, standing 
upon her tail too and hopping with delight. 
The North Wind blew as gently as he could, 
blew and blew until the two blissful seals 
blew round and round over the ice, hugging 
each other and singing — can’t seals sing? — 
and jumping in the air! 

So that is the story of how North Wind 
found and lost his baby ! 



u Happy New Year !” cried the goblin merrily, 
while the bunnies pricked up their ears and their 
whiskers and danced with him upon the snow* 


XXIII 

The Bad Little Goblin’s New 
Year 

C OME, children, dear, let’s sit on the 
floor around the fire, so, and watch 
those golden flames dancing and 
leaping. Do you see that very gay one 
just springing up the chimney? I know a 
story about him, a New Year’s story. Let’s 
snuggle up closer and look into the fire. 
You see that piece of coal black wood, there 
at the end? There was a horrid little gob- 
lin once who was as black as that bit of 
wood. His clothes were all black, his round 
cap looked like a bit of coal, his pointed 
shoes were jet black and his face was dark 
with dirt and an ugly scowling expression. 
Altogether he was a horrid-looking goblin, 
and he was just as hateful as he looked. 
There wasn’t a single person who liked him. 
The birds hated him because he would wait 

until after dark, when all the baby birds 
271 


272 41 Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

were cuddled down in the nest fast asleep. 
Then he would pop up from under the nest 
where he had been hiding and cry: “ Morn- 
ing-time; wake up!” and all the babies 
would cry : “ Chirp, chirp, Daddy, bring us 
our breakfast! ” 

They opened their bills so wide that it 
took a long time to shut them and put the 
excited babies to sleep again. Once Blackie, 
that was the goblin’s name, dropped a bit of 
twig down into a baby’s open bill and the 
poor bird coughed so hard that he kept the 
birds in the nests around awake all night. 
Blackie chuckled with glee and went scurry- 
ing off on another prank. 

While the mother bunnies were asleep he 
painted the tiny white flags they wear under 
their tails with brown mud from the marsh. 
When morning-time really did come and the 
mother bunnies woke up and called to their 
children to follow them, the little bunnies 
couldn’t see any white flags on their 
mothers’ tails to follow and they all got lost 
in the long grass. The mothers spent all 
day in getting their babies together and still 


The Bad Little Goblin’s New Year 273 

longer in washing those flags white and 
shiny. 

Blackie jumped for joy, and the mother 
bunnies would have liked to have reached 
him with their sharp claws, but he was too 
quick for them. 

Then Blackie found the holes where the 
squirrels had stored their nuts for the win- 
ter. It had taken them months to gather 
them, but Blackie waited until they were all 
out, then he carried the nuts away and hid 
them in the roots of an old tree where they 
would never think of looking! 

That wasn’t all! Blackie did one last 
thing so terrible that I don’t like to tell you 
about it. He waited until a robin’s nest was 
full of lovely blue eggs and the father bird 
off in search of worms. Then he made such 
a rustling in the next tree that the mother 
bird flew off to see what it was, and while 
she was gone — Blackie danced upon the 
eggs until they were broken ! 

That filled the timid wood creatures with 
fury. The birds, the rabbits and the squir- 
rels rushed upon the goblin and drove him 


274 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before M 

before them. The birds pecked him with 
their beaks and the squirrels and rabbits 
hopped after him with their claws out- 
stretched. Away ran Blackie, really fright- 
ened at last, until he reached the darkest 
part of the whole forest. There he jumped 
into a hole in a tree, curling himself up so 
tightly that his round cap touched his 
pointed shoes, and while he trembled with 
fear he heard the birds and bunnies and 
squirrels go tearing past, thinking that the 
wicked little goblin was still running ahead 
of them. 

When they had all passed Blackie peeked 
out of his hole. Oh how terribly quiet it 
was! Not a bird chirped, not a squirrel or 
a rabbit or a woodchuck lived there. It was 
so quiet and dark and lonely that Blackie 
began to feel quite forlorn. 

“ I would be polite to even a tree toad ! ” 
he thought, but not a croak or a buzz or a 
rustle broke the stillness. The bad little 
goblin put his head down upon his black 
knees and went to sleep, — there was nothing 
else to do ! 


The Bad Little Goblin’s New Year 275 

The first sound which woke him up was, 
“ chop — chop ! ” He rubbed his eyes and 
peeked out. He saw wood-cutters cutting 
down trees with their sharp axes. He saw 
them coming toward the tree where he was 
hiding. Shaking with terror Blackie curled 
himself up into a tight ball. “ Chop — 
crash ! ” went the tree, and Blackie’s head 
bumped hard against the top of his hole as, 
still inside it, he felt the tree fall to the 
ground. That was rather fun, and much 
excited he peeked out of a crack and 
watched the men fastening chains around 
the trees and loading them on wheels. His 
own tree was lifted too, and the next thing 
Blackie heard was “ saw — saw,” as the tree 
was sawed into logs at a lumber yard. 
Again he rolled up tight, hoping the axes 
wouldn’t cut him in two, and they didn’t! 

He was still safe in his hole when his log 
was thrown, with others, right into a dark 
cellar. It was even drearier there than in 
the forest and Blackie began to long for 
some playfellows. 

“ I wouldn’t tease them, I’d just play with 


276 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

them nicely,” he sighed, and two tears ran 
down his little black face, washing it almost 
clean. 

Then Blackie heard a strange new sound. 
It was gayer than a squirrel's chatter, 
sweeter than a bird’s song, — it was a child’s 
laughter ! Where did it come from ? Blackie 
stopped crying and listened. It came again 
and the laughter of other children mingled 
with it. Blackie peeked out; there was no 
one in the cellar. He crept out of the log 
and tiptoed up the stairs in search of those 
laughing voices. Hiding in the shadows so 
that no one would see him, he passed 
through the kitchen and on into a room full 
of sunshine and children! 

He hid behind a curtain, peering out curi- 
ously. In the centre of the room stood a 
little golden-haired girl, the one whose 
laughter he had first heard. But as Blackie 
watched her with delight he saw her pucker 
up her face as though she were going to cry. 

" My doll, my dear dolly; I tan’t find 
her! ” she wailed. 

In a flash all the other boys and girls were 


The Bad Little Goblin’s New Year 277 

searching under chairs and tables for the 
runaway dolly. They couldn’t find her, but 
Blackie saw a pair of doll’s feet poking out 
from under the sofa. He hopped swiftly 
across the floor, pulled the doll out by one 
leg and placed her on a chair beside the little 
girl. 

“Oh see, my dolly’s turn back!” she 
cried, hugging her with delight. 

“ She went for a walk and tame back 
again ! ” and taking the doll’s two hands in 
hers she danced with her around the room. 
The other children skipped around and their 
gay laughter rang out again. 

“ She went for a walk and came back all 
herself!” they cried. Blackie thought he 
had never seen or heard anything so merry; 
it made him want to dance too, poor little 
black goblin! If any one had seen him he 
would have been mistaken for a bit of coal 
and swept out of the room. 

But Blackie took care that no one did see 
him. Except, perhaps, the children, and I 
don’t know whether they ever really saw 
him or not. He spent every afternoon most 


278 11 Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

of this time with them, and somehow they 
seemed to know that he was there and that 
he was their friend. Every evening when 
they had their supper they put a bowl of 
milk in front of the fire for him, and when 
they came in to their breakfast the bowl was 
always empty. I don’t see how Blackie 
drank it without being seen, for he still slept 
in his log in the cellar and was asleep as 
soon as the children’s heads touched their 
pillows. The children’s mother was puzzled 
over that empty bowl, but she might have 
guessed there was a friendly goblin in the 
house by the way lost things were always 
turning up. 

“ I can’t find my thimble ! ” the mother 
would cry. “ Come, children, and look for 
it ! ” On the floor, under the rug, in the 
flower-pots and on the tables hunted the 
children. But Blackie, hiding behind the 
curtain, had seen a bit of something gold 
shining through the tassels of a chair. 
Quick as a flash he pulled it out and placed 
it on the arm of the mother’s chair. 

u Why, here it is ! ” she exclaimed. 


The Bad Little Goblin's New Year 279 

“ How did it get here?” The children 
laughed and winked at each other, as 
though they understood, but how could they 
explain about the goblin to Mother? 

Their father was always looking for his 
spectacles, and Mother, the children and all 
the maids would be called in to help search. 
Before Blackie came they would often 
search for hours, but he always found them 
in a twinkling, in a book perhaps or under 
the fender, and would place them right in 
front of Father. 

“ Gracious, look here, there must be 
some magic around!” he would cry, and 
the children would jump up and down with 
glee. They knew all about that magic. 
Did they know that a little black goblin 
was also jumping with joy behind the 
curtain? 

One morning, it was New Year's Day, 
Blackie slept longer than usual. He was 
curled up inside his log, so sound asleep that 
even the joggling of his home being carried 
up-stairs didn’t wake him. Then he was 
turned upside down and, peeking out of the 


280 “ Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

crack, found — that his log was about to be 
thrown on to the blazing fire ! 

Crash! it went; how very warm it was; 
and then Blackie heard the children laugh- 
ing. He peeked out and saw them all sit- 
ting in front of the fire, watching the blaze. 
All around Blackie red and yellow flames 
were dancing, so gay, so golden, so dancey 
and happy that Blackie forgot to be fright- 
ened, and: 

“ I want to be gay too ! ” he cried. “ I 
want to laugh with the children and dance 
with the flames. ,, His log caught fire, blazed 
up, and out sprang Blackie, — a little black 
goblin no longer! 

Instead he was the shiniest, most dancey 
golden flame that you ever saw ! For a few 
moments he just danced up and down with 
delight, then, waving and bowing to the 
children, he cried: 

“ Happy New Year ! Happy New Year ! ” 
and sprang up the chimney, the children’s 
glad voices echoing after him. 

When he reached the top he saw a glori- 
ous sight. The sun shining on the snow 


The Bad Little Goblin’s New Year 281 

and ice turned the world into a sparkling 
Fairyland, and the sky was as blue as for- 
get-me-nots, or Polly’s eyes, or the very 
bluest thing you have ever seen. Blackie 
danced with the sunbeams over the glitter- 
ing crust and almost ran into a flock of little 
birds huddled down in the snow, too cold 
to fly. Their feathers were ruffled and they 
looked very miserable. 

“ Come, play with me! ” he cried, dancing 
around them. He was so gay and beautiful 
that they forgot the cold and flew in circles 
about him. 

“ Come and join us ! ” he cried to a group 
of rabbits who were hunched up upon the 
snow half frozen. They hopped along 
slowly toward him and then — they too for- 
got the cold while they played games 
with the golden goblin and the birds 
until they were all as merry as the sun- 
beams. 

“ Happy New Year ! Happy New Year ! ” 
they called to each other and to the twin- 
kling flame-goblin. 

Then Blackie saw some squirrels curled 


282 " Tell Me a Story I Never Heard Before ” 

up on the branches of a tree so miserable 
they couldn’t even make believe scamper. 

“ What is the matter, do you want some 
nuts?” he cried. “Follow me!” And 
away he darted to the root of the tree where, 
as a naughty little goblin, he had hidden 
their winter store. The squirrels followed 
slowly, but when they saw their treasure 
their eyes sparkled, their teeth chattered 
with delight, and they scampered back and 
forth from the tree to their own holes, 
their paws full of nuts. They were as gay 
as Blackie himself. 

“ Happy New Year, Happy New Year! ” 
they cried to their gleaming friend, for they 
never dreamed he was the bad little goblin 
they had chased away the autumn before. 

So all day, and for many days, the goblin 
danced and sang and helped people and 
birds and the wood creatures. He twinkled 
as merrily in the sunshine out-of-doors as he 
did when he danced in the fire, warming the 
children and singing them songs. 

“ It’s like Happy New Year every day 
when the goblin is here ! ” cried the children, 


The Bad Little Goblin’s New Year 283 


dancing as gayly on the hearth rug as the 
sprite was dancing within the fire. 

There he is now; do you see him? He is 
dancing and crackling and crying to all of 
us, “ Happy New Year, Happy New Year! ” 


Printed in the United States of America 


















% 



























» 

























% 







t 


















•a 

























# 


4 





♦ 




\ 


























» 























